THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


THE  PIPE  OF  PEACE 

A  Play  in  three  acts  by 
A.  E.  Drinkwater 


Birmingham 

Cornish  Brothers   Ltd 

Publishers  to  the  University 

39  New  Street 

1922 


Copyright  1922  by  Albert  Edwin  Drink-aiater 
All  Dramatic  Rights  reserved  by  the  Author 


PRINTED   BY   MOODY   BROS., 
BIRMINGHAM 


TR 


To 

THE  CAPTAINS  AND  RANK  AND  FILE 

OF   INDUSTRY 

>- 

Be 
< 

OQ 

To  all,  that  is,  who,  in  their  several  ways, 
Q  contribute  to  the  making  of  essential  things 


o 

ui 

o 

'  Oh,  U  is  excellent 

To  have  a  Giant's  strength  :  but  it  is  tyrannous 
To  use  it  like  a  Giant.' 

Measure  for  Measure. 

<C 


112824 


THE  PIPE  OF  PEACE 

A  Play  in  Three  Acts 

PERSONS  OF  THE  TLAY 

BOB  BRANDON 
ROBERT  BRANDON 
ALAN  BRANDON 
COWLEY  SMITH 
DR.  WELLS 
STEPHEN  COLE 
TOM  COPPOCK 
ALICE  BRANDON 
JUDY  BRANDON 

Scene    -     -     *A  small  Industrial  English  Town. 

<Act     7.       Bob   'Brandons   Cottage- 

^August  $th,   1914. 

tAct  II.       tybert   'Brandon  s   House. 

'December,   1919. 

<Act III.       fybert  Brandons   House. 

May  24th,   1924. 


THE  PIPE  OF  PEACE 


ACT    I. 

THE  scene  is  the  living  room  in  Bob  Brandon's 
cottage,  in  a  small  industrial  town.  Most  of  the 
inhabitants  are  employed  at  the  large  factory, 
which  is  the  most  important  feature  of  the  place. 
Bob  Brandon's  home,  which  was  his  father's  and 
his  father's  father's  before  him,  is  almost  too  sub- 
stantial to  be  called  a  cottage.  It  has  half-a- 
dozen  bedrooms  and  has,  in  past  generations, 
accommodated  moderately  large  families;  and 
there  has  been  room  enough  for  them  to  live 
decently  and  in  comfort.  For  longer  than  can  be 
remembered  there  have  been  Brandons  working 
at  the  factory.  They  have  done  skilled  work  and 
earned  fair  wages.  There  is  no  family  in  the  town 
that  is  better  known,  or  more  generally  respected. 
Bob  is  seventy,  but  he  still  insists  on  going  to 
work  every  day,  and  has  still  the  reputation  of 
being  the  best  man  in  the  factory  at  his  own  par- 
ticular job. 

The  room  is  not  a  small  one.  It  is  furnished 
with  good  simple  furniture,  which  originally  cost 
little,  but  has  always  been  taken  care  of.  It  is  a 
beautiful,  well-kept,  scrupulously  clean  English 
cottage  interior. 


6  THE   PIPE   OF   PEACE 

There  is  a  fireplace  at  the  back.  On  the  left, 
from  the  actor's  point  of  view,  there  is  a  window, 
and  below  it  a  door  opening  on  to  the  street.  On 
the  right  there  is  a  door  leading  to  the  kitchen, 
where,  except  on  great  occasions,  all  the  meals 
are  taken. 

It  is  the  evening  of  August  4th,  1914. 

Bob  is  sitting  in  a  comfortable  chair,  right  of 
the  table,  reading  the  paper. 

There  is  a  knock  at  the  door. 

BOB  :   Come  in. 

The  street  door  opens,  and  DR.  WELLS  is  seen 
standing  in  the  doorway,  with  a  cheery  smile  on 
his  face.  He  is  a  year  or  two  younger  than  BOB. 
He  is  carelessly  dressed  in  tweeds.  At  first  sight 
he  impresses  you  as  a  genial,  lovable  man;  and 
further  acquaintance  always  confirms  the  impres- 
sion. 

BOB  :  You,  Doctor  !  Come  in  ...  come 
along  in. 

DR.  W.  :  How  are  you,  Bob?  He  shuts  the 
door  and  comes  in. 

BOB  :  I'm  getting  on.  When  the  sun  shone 
this  morning  I  walked  to  the  top  of  the  hill  and 
back.  I  haven't  missed  a  day  at  the  works. 

DR.  W.  :  Capital !  He  sits  left  of  table.  This 
isn't  a  professional  visit.  I  dropped  in  for  a  chat, 

BOB  :  You're  welcome. 

DR.  W.  :    May  I  smoke  my  pipe? 

BOB  :    Why,  of  course. 


THE   PIPE   OF   PEACE  7 

DR.  W.  :  Where's  yours?  BOB  picl^s  up  his 
pipe  from  the  table.  Fill  up.  He  offers  his 
pouch. 

BOB  :  Thank  you,  Doctor,  but  I  like  a  whiff  o' 
flavour  in  my  baccy.  He  fills  his  pipe  with  shag 
from  a  finely  polished  old  steel  round  box  which 
he  takes  from  his  pocket. 

DR.  W.  :  All  right.  Stick  to  your  shag,  you 
old  barbarian  !  They  light  their  pipes. 

BOB  :  You  don't  like  shag?  Queer,  isn't  it? 
Whenever  we  get  together  we  get  at  cross  pur- 
poses. He  chuckles  pleasantly.  Do  you  remem- 
ber the  first  time?  Fifty  .  .  .  fifty-three  years 
ago  ! 

DR.  W.  (laughing):  Was  it?  Fifty-three 
years,  eh?  What  did  we  squabble  about  then, 
Bob? 

BOB  :  You  were  fishing,  and  I  was  coming 
home  from  work,  by  the  river. 

DR.  W.  :  I  remember.  He  chuckles.  We 
argued  about  casts.  You  slipped  off  my  fly, 
rummaged  in  my  box,  and  whipped  on  another. 

BOB  :  And  you  lost  your  temper,  Doctor,  and 
threw  down  your  rod,  and  shouted,  *  If  you  know 
so  much  about  it,  you'd  better  fish  yourself.' 

DR.  W.  (laughing  at  the  recollection) :  And 
you  did  .  .  .  and  in  ten  minutes  hooked  the  fish 
I'd  been  after  all  the  afternoon. 

BOB  :  And  1  kept  the  fish  .  .  .  you  made  me 
...  a  pound  and  three-quarters,  it  was  ...  a 
beauty.  Mother  cooked  it  to  a  turn,  and  we  had 
a  grand  supper. 


8  THE   PIPE   OF   PEACE 

DR.  W.  :  H  .  .  .  h  .  .  .  ha  !  Do  you  remem- 
ber what  you  said,  as  you  marched  off  along  the 
bank? 

BOB  (shading  his  head) :   N  .  .  .  no. 

DR.  W.  :  *  No  sense  in  trying  the  Mayfly  in 
June.* 

BOB  :  That's  right,  Doctor,  that's  right.  And 
it's  worth  remembering  by  other  folk  besides 
fishermen. 

DR.  W.  :  I  suppose  so.  You've  got  a  wise  old 
head,  Bob.  It  does  me  good  to  have  a  pow-wow 
with  you.  Since  1  gave  up  practice  .  .  .  except 
for  half-a-dozen  incorrigible  old  cripples  like 
yourself  .  .  . 

BOB  :  I  could  never  understand  why  you  gave 
up.  You're  good  for  another  ten  years,  or  more. 

DR.  W.  :  I'm  very  well,  thank  God.  You  see 
I've  set  up  my  nephew.  1  want  him  to  get  on, 
and  get  all  the  work  he  can.  His  dear  mother 
needs  help  .  .  .  and  he's  talking  of  a  wife.  So 
it's  best  to  leave  it  to  him  as  much  as  may  be. 

BOB  :    I  see.       I  didn't  rightly  understand. 

DR.  W.  :  But  I  miss  it.  I'm  a  pretty  lonely 
old  chap,  Bob.  Most  of  my  pals  are  gone  .  .  . 
and  I've  no  children. 

BOB  (after  a  pause)  :  Children  baint  always  a 
comfort  to  their  fathers  ...  as  you've  only  got 
to  look  down  the  street  to  see.  Not  that  I've 
anything  to  complain  of.  I'm  lucky.  My  boys 
and  girl  are  all  I'd  have  'em  be,  thank  God. 

DR.  W.  :   Any  more  news  of  David? 


THE   PIPE   OF   PEACE  9 

BOB  :  A  letter  last  night.  It's  settled.  He's 
leaving  Melbourne  .  .  .  going  to  Sydney.  It's 
a  lot  better  job,  by  all  accounts  .  .  .  under  the 
Government. 

DR.  W.  :  Good  luck  to  him  !  And  Robert, 
he's  making  a  name  for  himself.  What's  he  at 
to-night?  They  say  the  People's  Hall  is  cram- 
med, everybody  from  the  works  there  .  .  .  and 
Robert's  been  talking  nearly  an  hour. 

BOB  :  Robert  was  always  a  great  one  for  a 
speech  .  .  .  and  a  great  reader. 

DR.  W.  :  He's  wise;  no  friends  like  good 
books.  I  don't  know  what  I'd  do  without  them. 
What's  he  talking  about  to-night?  Strikes? 

BOB  :  Not  of  Robert's  making.  Seems  to  me, 
Doctor,  there's  bigger  things  to  call  meetings  for, 
and  be  making  speeches  about  than  what's  doing 
at  the  works.  It's  no  time  for  differences  at  home. 
He  points  to  the  newspaper. 

DR.  W.  :  You're  right,  Bob.  There's  mis- 
chief brewing  in  Europe,  such  as  the  world's 
never  seen. 

BOB  :   So  I  think.     He  tal^es  off  his  spectacles 
But   nobody   down  here  seems  to  know  it,   or 
believe  it.     Last  night,  at  the  Cap  and  Bells,  they 
laughed  at  me  when  I  said  we  might  be  at  war 
within  a  week. 

DR.  W.  :  That's  England  all  over.  The  Cap 
and  Bells  is  England.  We  laugh,  and  say  a 
thing's  impossible,  when  we  ought  to  be  getting 
ready. 


JO  THE   PIPE   OF   PEACE 

ALICE  comes  in.  She  is  a  pretty,  slender  girl 
of  twenty-one. 

BOB  :   Been  to  the  meeting  ? 

ALICE  :   Good  evening,  Doctor.     Yes,  Dad. 

DR.  W.  :  But  you  don't  work  at  the  factory, 
my  dear. 

ALICE  :  No.  She  goes  to  work-table  on  right, 
tal^es  out  worl^,  and  sits.  But  I  wanted  to  hear 
what  .  .  .  what  they  .  .  .  what  Robert  had  to 
say. 

DR.  W.  :  When  I  look  at  Alice,  and  at  Robert, 
I  can  hardly  believe  they're  brother  and  sister. 

BOB  (laughing)  :  I've  often  said  the  same. 
There's  eighteen  years  between  them.  Robert's 
thirty-nine,  and  this  baby's  twenty-one. 

ALICE  (after  pause) :  Dad,  I  think  there's  bad 
news.  There's  all  sorts  of  reports  in  the  streets. 

DR.  W.  :   War  news? 

ALICE  :  Yes,  Doctor.  She  stops  Work,  ner 
hands  fall  on  her  knees,  and  she  becomes  Very 
thoughtful.  Do  you  think  it's  true?  She  /oo^s 
anxiously  at  the  Doctor,  who  doesn't  answer. 
Almost  in  tears.  Oh,  my  God,  if  it  is  !  What 
shall  we  do  ? 

DR.  W.  :    We'll  hope  for  the  best,  my  dear, 

till  we  know. 

I 

ROBERT,  ALAN  and  COWLEY  SMITH  come  in 
by  door  left.  ALICE  puts  her  work  away,  and 
gets  up.  ROBERT  and  ALAN  hang  up  their 
hats,  and  COWLEY  his  cap  on  pegs  up  left  of  the 
fireplace.  ROBERT,  aged  thirty-nine,  is  a  fine 


THE   PIPE   OF   PEACE  11 

type  of  the  skilled  English  workman,  tall,  rather 
stout,  with  a  bright,  intelligent  face.  ALAN, 
about  thirty,  is  a  young  parson;  he  is  tall,  but 
slight.  He  is  a  young  man  of  convictions,  who 
has  made  his  way  into  the  church  by  his  industry 
and  ability.  He  is  very  simple,  very  pleasant, 
and  likeable.  CoWLEY,  who  is  twenty-five,  is 
a  little  rougher  than  the  other  two,  slightly  aggres- 
sive, but  not  unpleasantly  so.  ROBERT  sits  in 
arm  chair  left  of  fireplace.  ALAN  stands  on  his 
right.  COWLEY  goes  over  to  chair  right,  near 
work-table,  where  ALICE  was  sitting.  Later, 
after  ALICE  has  gone  out,  he  sits  there,  turning 
the  chair  a  little  towards  the  others.  There  is  a 
general  interchange  of  nods,  and  *  How  do  you 
do's?' 

BOB  (as  they  come  in)  :  Get  a  bit  o'  supper,  my 
dear. 

ALICE  goes  out  by  door  right. 

ROBERT  :   How  are  you,  Doctor? 

DR.  W.  (he  nods  pleasantly  to  Robert;  then 
turns  to  Alan) :  You're  looking  well.  Got  your 
holiday  ? 

ALAN  :  We're  putting  in  a  quiet  week  with 
Dad;  then  we're  going  to  the  sea.  Judy's  fond 
of  the  sea. 

DR.  W.  :  Good  judge.     She  well  ? 

ALAN  :  Splendid.     She'll  be  here  directly. 

DR.  W.  :  Is  there  any  news? 

ALAN  :    War  news? 


12  THE   PIPE   OF   PEACE 

DR.  W.  :   Yes.     Alice  says  .   .   . 

ALAN  :  No,  nothing  clear  .  .  .  rumours,  that's 
all.  Judy's  gone  to  Major  Armstrong's,  to  see  if 
he  knows  anything. 

BOB  (shading  his  head) :  I'm  afraid  ...  I'm 
afraid  .  .  .  Pause.  What  did  you  do  at  the 
meeting,  Robert? 

CoWLEY  (with  rather  sullen  emphasis) : 
Nothing. 

ROBERT  (firm,  but  not  angry)  :  And  you  never 
will,  till  you  learn  to  be  fair  to  both  sides.  If 
we'd  pulled  together,  we  should  have  got  all 
we've  any  right  to  ask,  and  masters  and  men 
good  friends  to  the  finish.  But  you,  and  your 
section,  have  inflamed  the  men,  some  of  them, 
with  wild  notions. 

COWLEY  :  You've  no  right  to  talk  of  wild 
notions,  just  because  you  don't  see  as  far  as  we 
do. 

ROBERT  :  Cowley,  my  lad,  I  like  you.  You're 
going  to  marry  Alice,  and  I  want  to  ...  well, 
more  than  like  you.  But  don't  think  you,  and 
your  set,  have  got  all  the  sense.  In  days  past 
Labour  had  two  great  enemies,  their  own  deadly 
apathy,  and  the  wrong  uns  among  the  employers. 
They  weren't  all  wrong  uns.  If  we  could  know 
the  truth,  I  expect  you'd  find  they  were  good, 
and  bad,  in  about  the  same  proportions  as  any 
other  class.  From  all  accounts,  there  was  never 
anything  to  complain  of  here  rill  Sir  William  died, 
and  the  factory  became  a  limited  liability  com- 
pany. Now,  you've  got  rid  of  your  apathy,  and 


THE   PIPE   OF   PEACE  13 

you've  gone  to  the  other  extreme.  It  isn't  merely 
unrest  .  .  .  it's  a  passion  for  unrest,  and  it's 
growing. 

COWLEY  :  Thank  God  for  it. 

ROBERT  :  It's  not  a  blessing,  altogether.  It 
has  brought  into  existence  two  new  enemies  of 
Labour  .  .  .  the  fanatic,  who  means  well,  but 
sees  red,  and  the  scoundrel  with  no  principle, 
who  knows  his  living  as  a  paid  agitator,  depends 
on  lashing  the  men  into  fury. 

COWLEY  :  There's  things  to  be  furious  about. 
The  manager  should  take  back  Arnold  Penman. 

ALAN  :  No,  I  don't  agree,  Cowley.  I'm  all 
for  giving  a  man  a  second,  and  a  third  chance ; 
but  there's  no  prosperity  in  any  factory  if  there's 
no  discipline. 

ROBERT  :  Arnold's  been  on  the  wrong  road  for 
months.  He's  neglected  his  work,  and  the 
manager  passed  it  over  more  than  once.  Last 
Monday  he  was  half-an-hour  late,  and,  when  he 
did  come,  he  was  drunk.  And  the  manager  told 
him  to  clear  out. 

COWLEY :  There  ought  to  have  been  an 
enquiry.  It  was  never  proved.  I  don't  believe 
he  was  drunk. 

DR.  W.  :  You  don't  want  to  believe  it,  Cowley. 
But  you  know  it's  true,  all  the  same. 

COWLEY  :  Look  here,  Doctor.  It's  no  good 
your  putting  in  your  spoke.  Old  folks  don't  see 
things  in  the  same  light. 

DR.  W.  :   Rubbish  .  .  .  trite  rubbish,  Cowley. 


14  THE   PIPE   OF   PEACE 

COWLEY  :  It's  right.  The  old  make  the  laws. 
The  old  perpetuate  the  customs  of  the  past  .  .  . 
and  the  young  kick  over  the  traces.  It's  natural. 

DR.  W.  :  It's  natural  for  a  colt  to  resent  the 
bridle,  but  he's  got  to  get  used  to  it,  if  he's  ever 
to  do  a  horse's  work,  and  earn  his  living.  I'm 
not  too  old  to  be  keen  about  the  future,  but  I'm 
old  enough  to  know  I've  blundered  into  a  lot  of 
mistakes.  No,  Cowley,  you're  wrong.  It's 
good  for  the  old  to  help  the  young  to  shape  things. 
They're  less  likely  to  be  swayed  by  what  just 
concerns  themselves,  and  not  the  community. 

BOB  :  That's  right,  Doctor,  that's  quite  right. 
Cowley  doesn't  understand,  but  I  do  ...  so 
would  Alice. 

COWLEY  :   What's  Alice  got  to  do  with  it? 

DR.  W.  :  What's  Alice  got  to  do  with  it? 
Laughing  pleasantly.  Cowley,  my  son,  I  helped 
you  into  the  world.  I  saw  your  mother  die  two 
years  after.  After  your  father's  accident,  for 
three  months  I  tried  to  help  him  in  his  fight  for 
life.  You've  had  no  parents  since  you  were  six. 
You've  had  a  hard  life,  but  you're  made  of  fine 
stuff.  If  your  hard  life  has  twisted  you  a  little,  it 
hasn't  spoilt  you. 

COWLEY  (a  little  moved,  but  a  little  resentful) : 
I  don't  want  to  be  patronized,  Doctor.  You  mean 
well,  but  I  don't  like  it. 

DR.  W.  :  But  I've  a  great  opinion  of  you, 
Cowley.  I  expect  you  to  do  something  in  the 
world.  But  you  haven't  come  to  wisdom  yet. 
I  said  the  young  were  apt  to  think  too  much  of 


THE  PIPE   OF  PEACE  15 

what  concerns  themselves,  and  not  the  com- 
munity. Bob  understands ;  he  says  Alice  would 
understand.  But  you  don't.  You're  Arnold 
Penman's  champion  because  you've  been 
brought  up  together,  and  you're  loyal  to  an  old 
friend  .  .  .  and  I'd  say  *  Be  damned  to  you  if 
you  weren't. '  What  makes  you  twice  as  loyal  is 
that  Arnold  wants  to  marry  Alice,  and  she's 
chosen  you.  A  mean  chap  would  have  joined 
the  cry  against  Arnold,  but  you  see  less  folly  and 
more  good  in  him  than  there  really  is. 

ROBERT  :  Arnold's  not  a  bad  chap,  but  he's 
got  into  a  bad  set.  If  he  left  the  place  and  started 
fresh  somewhere  else,  he'd  be  all  right.  But 
he's  put  himself  in  the  wrong,  and  the  demand 
that  the  manager  should  take  him  back  is  making 
the  settlement  of  our  difference  impossible. 

ALICE  comes  in  by  door  right.  She  goes  to 
her  father,  and  puts  her  hands  on  his  shoulders. 

ALICE  :   Supper's  ready,  dad. 

BOB  :  Come,  boys,  and  have  a  crust.  Come, 
Doctor. 

DR.  W.  :  I've  had  my  supper,  but  I'll  keep  you 
company. 

BOB,  ROBERT,  ALAN  and  the  DOCTOR  go  off 
by  door  right.  ALICE  is  standing  at  the  back  of 
the  chair  right  of  table.  CoWLEY  is  seated  down 
right. 

ALICE  (after  a  pause) :  Aren't  you  coming, 
Cowley  ? 


16  THE   PIPE   OF   PEACE 

COWLEY  :  No,  I  told  Mrs.  Clay  to  get  some- 
thing ready.  He  gets  up.  He  comes  close  to 
her,  on  her  right;  she  looks  up  at  him.  He  takes 
her  face  in  his  hands  and  kisses  her. 

ALICE  :  I  wish  you  and  father  and  the  boys 
didn't  always  disagree. 

COWLEY  :  We  don't.  We  all  want  to  get  to 
the  same  place,  but  we  want  to  go  by  our  own 
short  cuts  .  .  .  and  we  can't  agree  which  cut's 
the  shortest. 

ALICE  :    I'm  sorry  for  Arnold  Penman. 

COWLEY  :  So  am  I,  damned  sorry. 

ALICE  :  He's  always  so  nice  to  me.  I  couldn't 
do  as  he  wanted,  but  I  like  him.  I  think  it  was 
splendid  of  you  to  stand  up  for  him  at  the 
meeting. 

COWLEY  :  You  didn't  hear  what  the  Doctor 
said.  It's  right,  a  good  deal  of  it.  It  was, 
partly,  because  ...  I  knew  you'd  like  it.  She 
tak.es  his  hand  and  ^zsses  it,  and  looks  into  his 
face.  They  stand  quite  still  for  a  moment.  She 
looks  away  from  him,  straight  in  front  of  her. 

ALICE:   Cowley! 

COWLEY  :  Yes. 

ALICE  (tears  are  coming,  but  she  fights  against 
them):  Do  you  .  .  .  think  it's  true?  Sheloofa 
at  him. 

COWLEY :  What  they're  saying  .  .  .  about 
war?  She  nods.  It  looks  very  bad.  Pause. 
It's  horrible  men  can't  live  in  peace  !  Every  step 
we've  taken  towards  progress  .  .  .  and  better 


THE   PIPE    OF   PEACE  17 

times   ...    all  to  go  by  the  board.     All  men's 
worst  instincts  roused. 

ALICE  (smiling  quaintly  at  him)  :  Cowley,  you 
are  funny  .  .  .  sometimes. 

COWLEY  :   Funny  !  Good  Lord  !   How  funny  ? 

ALICE  :  What  you  said  .  .  .  about  men  living 
in  peace. 

COWLEY  :  What's  wrong  with  my  saying  that? 

ALICE  :  There's  nothing  wrong  with  it.  Only, 
at  the  meeting,  it's  just  what  some  of  us  thought 
about  you  all,  when  you  were  losing  your 
tempers,  and  calling  one  another  names. 

COWLEY  (he  turns  from  her,  wallas  a  couple  of 
steps  away  to  the  right,  puzzled  and  thoughtful; 
then  back  to  her.  He  speaks  very  earnestly) : 
My  God,  little  girl,  I  didn't  know  you  could  see 
things  .  .  .  like  that. 

ALICE  :    You  are  in  earnest,  Cowley     .     . 
about  everything     .     .     .     when  you  talk  to  the 
men   .    .    .   when  you  see  something  for  the  first 
time  .   .   .  Smiling   ...   as  you  did  just  now. 

COWLEY  :  Alice,  I  ...  He  is  going  to  be  Very 
much  in  earnest. 

ALICE  (holding  up  her  face,  and  smiling  at 
him) :  Kiss  me. 

COWLEY  (smiling  back ;  he  is  now  Very  charm- 
ing; he  fez'sses  her) :  Who  wouldn't  fall  in  love 
with  you  .  .  .  you  little  wonder  ! 

ALICE  (teasing) :   Why  did  you? 

COWLEY  :  I  didn't  mean  to  ...  I  meant  not 
to  ...  I  meant  not  to  fall  in  love  with  any 
woman.  Getting  serious  again.  I  meant  to  be 


18  THE   PIPE   OF   PEACE 

free  to  work  for  what  seemed  to  matter  most  in 
the  world  .  .  .  to  be  free  .  .  .  and,  then,  if  my 
way  led  to  trouble,  nobody  else  would  suffer. 

ALICE  (nestling  up  to  him;  very  gently  and 
sincerely) :  If  your  way  led  to  trouble,  I  shouldn't 
like  not  to  suffer,  too  ...  a  little. 

CoWLEY  (he  takes  her  in  his  arms)  :  Alice,  my 
dear,  we'll  do  something  in  the  world  .  .  .  you 
and  I.  They  hear  the  others  coming  back,  and 
separate  Very  quietly. 

The  door  right  is  opened,  and  BOB,  ROBERT, 
ALAN  and  the  DOCTOR  are  heard  talking  together, 
and  laughing  a  little.  They  come  in,  talking  as 
they  come.  ALAN  and  the  DOCTOR  come  first; 
the  other  two  follow. 

ALAN  (as  they  come  through  the  door) :  Judy  ? 
She  said  she'd  come  along.  I'll  go  and  find  her. 
He  takes  his  hat.  A  she  is  going  to  the  door  left, 
there  is  a  knock.  ALAN  opens  the  Joor,  and 
speaks  to  someone  outside.  Mr.  Robert  Bran- 
don? Yes.  He  comes  a  step  into  the  room. 

ALAN  lets  in  STEPHEN  COLE;  then  goes  out 

himself,  and  closes  the  door.  STEPHEN  is  a 
rather  delicate  young  man  of  twenty-eight,  with 
a  pleasant,  intelligent  face.  ALICE  has  gone  to 
the  chair  left  of  the  fireplace  and  is  sitting. 
COWLEY  is  standing  on  her  right.  BOB  goes  to 
the  chair  right  of  fireplace  and  sits.  ROBERT  sits 
at  the  right  of  the  table,  and  the  DOCTOR  opposite 
to  him  at  the  left  of  the  table. 


THE   PIPE   OF   PEACE  19 

STEPHEN  (at  the  door)  :  Mr.  Robert  Brandon? 

ROBERT  :   I'm  Robert  Brandon. 

STEPHEN  :  You  won't  know  me.  My  name  is 
Stephen  Cole.  I  know  your  brother  David,  Mr. 
Brandon. 

BOB  (very  interested,  and  a  little  excited) :  A 
friend  o*  David's?  He  comes  behind  the 
DOCTOR,  and  shakes  hands  with  STEPHEN. 
Come  in,  come  in,  sir. 

ROBERT  :  My  father,  Mr.  Cole.  He  also  has 
risen,  and  stands  by  his  chair  right  of  the  table. 

STEPHEN  :   I'm  very  glad  to  meet  you,  sir. 

BOB  :  You  know  David?  When  did  you  see 
him?  Was  he  very  well?  I  hear  from  him 
most  weeks .  He  says  he  *  s  well . 

STEPHEN  :  Very  well,  when  I  saw  him  .  .  . 
and  prosperous. 

ROBERT  (meeting  him  and  shading  hands)  :  If 
you're  a  friend  of  David's  you're  very  welcome. 
He  gets  the  chair  from  near  the  small  work-table 
right,  and  places  it  for  STEPHEN  a  little  to  the  right 
and  in  front  of  his  own  chair.  BOB  has  gone  back 
to  his  chair,  and  sits  watching  STEPHEN.  As 
ROBERT  sits  again  right  of  table,  he  introduces  the 
others.  Doctor  Wells,  my  sister  Alice,  Cowley 
Smith. 

STEPHEN  (as  he  sits  down  after  nodding  to 
them) :  I  want  some  information,  and  I  want  your 
help,  Mr.  Brandon. 

ROBERT  :  Help?  He  looks  at  STEPHEN  a  little 
puzzled;  it  is  clearly  not  material  help  he  wants. 
What  .  .  what  can  . 


20  THE   PIPE   OF   PEACE 

STEPHEN  :  I  was  at  your  meeting.  It  interested 
me  very  much.  But  I  noticed  .  .  .  I've  noticed 
the  same  thing  at  many  meetings,  in  different 
parts  of  the  country  .  .  . 

CoWLEY  (a  little  suspicious)  :  Did  you  come  to 
the  meeting  ...  to  report  for  some  newspaper, 
or  ... 

STEPHEN  :  No,  no.  I've  nothing  to  do  with 
any  paper.  I  came  quite  on  my  own  account. 

COWLEY  :  Well,  let's  know  where  we  are. 
You're  a  stranger  to  us. 

BOB  :  Cowley,  Cowley,  he   ... 

COWLEY :  All  right,  Mr.  Brandon.  To 
STEPHEN.  This  meeting  was  for  the  men  at  the 
works. 

STEPHEN  :  Oh,  I'm  sorry.  I  saw  a  notice  on 
the  gate.  If  it  was  a  private  meeting,  I  apologize. 

ROBERT  :  No,  that's  all  right.  Nothing  private 
about  it. 

COWLEY  :  Oh,  no.  Only,  before  anybody 
goes  answering  questions  about  our  business  at 
the  meeting,  it's  as  well  to  know  who  we're  talk- 
ing to. 

STEPHEN  :  I  think  that's  sound.  If  it  interests 
you,  I  can  tell  you  all  there  is  to  tell  about  myself 
in  a  few  words. 

BOB  :  No,  Mr.     ... 

STEPHEN  :  Cole. 

BOB  :  No,  Mr.  Cole,  there's  no  occasion.  As 
a  friend  of  David's  we're  glad  to  welcome  you ; 
and  I'm  sure,  if  Robert  can  be  of  any  service  .  .  . 


THE   PIPE    OF   PEACE  21 

ROBERT  nods,  but  COWLEY  Joes  not  exactly  /oofe 

approval.     STEPHEN  notes  this. 

STEPHEN  :  Mr.  Smith's  right,  Mr.  Brandon. 
One  has  to  be  careful. 

COWLEY  (a  little  rebuffed) :  So  far  as  the  meet- 
ing goes,  if  you're  one  of  us  .  .  .  if  you  earn 
your  living  with  your  hands  .  .  . 

STEPHEN  (with  a  rather  sad  smile,  looking  at 
his  hands,  which  are  delicate  and  fair) :  I  don't 
.  .  .  now.  With  a  playfully  mischievous  smile. 
I'm  a  capitalist  .  .  .  now. 

COWLEY  :  Hm.  I  thought  you  were  getting 
at  us. 

STEPHEN  :  If  by  *  getting  at  '  you  mean  that  I 
have  any  unfriendly  motive,  you're  wrong.  I 
did  once  earn  my  living  with  my  hands,  but  I 
had  a  long  illness.  I  was  on  my  back  for  a  year ; 
and  in  that  long  year  I  read  a  great  deal,  and  I 
thought  a  great  deal.  Amongst  other  things  I 
hit  upon  a  little,  simple  device  for  common 
domestic  use.  Pause.  I  thought  much  of  the 
relations  existing  between  employer  and  em- 
ployed. That  has  led  me  since  to  attend  many 
meetings  in  different  parts  of  the  country,  and  in 
other  countries.  That's  how  I  came  to  be  at  your 
meeting  this  evening.  When  I  was  able  to  leave 
my  bed,  I  wondered  what  I  could  do  for  a  living. 
The  doctors  said  it  would  be  a  loner  time  before  I 
could  work  at  my  trade  again.  One  morning  I 
took  my  little  model  to  my  eld  employer.  He 
thought  well  of  it,  and  offered  to  buy  it. 


22  THE   PIPE   OF   PEACE 

COWLEY  :  For  a  five  pound  note  ;  and  he  made 
a  fortune  out  of  it. 

STEPHEN  :  No,  I'm  not  altogether  a  fool  at  a 
bargain,  and  he  was  not  unfair.  I  sold  on  rea- 
sonable terms.  He  has  to  make  it,  and  advertise 
it.  I  get  a  royalty  on  every  one  he  makes. 

DR.  W.  :    Well,  good  luck  to  you  ! 

STEPHEN  :  It's  fairly  successful.  In  the  first 
six  months  I  got  seventy  pounds,  and  it's  been 
getting  more  and  more.  It  may  grow  into  some- 
thing considerable.  So  you  see,  I'm  a  capitalist. 
He  sits  back,  a  little  tired. 

ROBERT  (after  a  short  pause)  :  I  don't  quite 
understand.  You  said  you  wanted  my  help  .  .  . 
and  information. 

ALICE  (who  has  been  interested  in  STEPHEN, 
and  has  been  watching  him) :  We've  just  had 
supper;  it's  still  there.  Wont  you  have  some 
ale,  and  bread  and  cheese  .  .  .  or  a  cup  of  tea. 

STEPHEN  :  No,  thank  you.  It's  very  kind  of 
you.  I'm  only  ...  a  little  tired  ...  I 
had  rather  a  long  journey  to-day.  I  want  you 
sometime,  at  your  leisure,  Mr.  Brandon,  to  tell 
me  something  of  local  industries,  and  local  con- 
ditions. I  was  greatly  interested  at  your  meeting, 
but  I  noticed  one  speaker  after  another  took  the 
same  line  .  .  .  the  same  arguments  ...  a 
little  worn,  some  of  them.  Except  yourself,  no 
one  recognized  there  were  two  sides  to  the  ques- 
tion. 

CoWLEY  :  There  is  only  one  side  .  .  .  that 
concerns  us. 


THE   PIPE   OF   PEACE  2> 

STEPHEN  :  I  was  in  the  workshop  from  a  boy ; 
so  I  know  the  worker's  side.  When  you're  in 
bed  for  a  year,  you  see  things  from  many  points 
of  view.  I  learnt  more  in  Australia.  They 
sent  me  there  .  .  .  doctor's  orders,  and  business 
combined  .  .  .  To  BOB.  That's  how  I  met 
your  son,  Mr.  Brandon. 

BOB  :  Yes,  you  must  tell  me  presently.  I 
want  to  hear  about  David. 

STEPHEN  :  One  way  and  another  I  got  to 
know  things  from  the  employers'  point  of  view, 
as  well  as  our  own.  If  I  may  say  so,  Mr.  Smith, 
I  think  you're  wrong.  In  this  matter,  as  in  all 
others,  there  are  two  sides  to  the  question.  My 
business  takes  me  all  over  the  country.  I  hear 
all  I  can.  You  said  to-night,  the  meeting  was 
adjourned  till  next  Monday. 

ROBERT  :  We  want  some  more  figures ;  they 
weren't  all  ready  to-night. 

STEPHEN  :  Will  you  let  me  come  on  Monday, 
and  speak  to  the  men  .  .  .  put  both  sides  as 
fairly  as  I  can. 

COWLEY  :  That's  no  good.  If  you  want  to  get 
a  move  on,  you've  got  to  see  one  side,  and  only 
one  side.  That's  how  all  big  things  have  come 
about. 

STEPHEN  :  Sometimes  big  things  have  only 
come  after  lamentable  havoc  and  destruction. 
The  world  should  grow  wiser.  Misunderstand- 
ing in  the  past  has  untold  misery  to  answer  for. 
It's  worth  men's  while  to  understand  one  another 
better. 


24  THE   PIPE   OF   PEACE 

COWLEY  :  Yes,  I  dare  say  you  mean  all  right. 
You  called  yourself  a  capitalist ;  that  was  a  joke, 
I  suppose.  Anyhow  you've  got  into  the  way  of 
seeing  things  from  the  point  of  view  of  capital. 
We  don't  want  that  at  our  meetings.  We've  no 
use  for  capitalists. 

DR.  W.  :  That  isn't  sense,  Cowley ;  and 
you're  too  clever  not  to  know  it.  Where  there's 
industry,  there's  use  for  capital. 

COWLEY  :  When  it's  needed,  we'll  find  it. 
We  don't  want  the  kind  o'  capital  that  takes 
thirty  or  forty  per  cent. 

STEPHEN  :  Capital  doesn't  take  thirty,  or  forty 
per  cent.  In  isolated  cases  it  may.  It's  not  as 
though  the  capital  of  each  enterprise  were  pro- 
vided by  one  individual,  with  no  other  interests. 
And  it's  not  fair  to  assume  that  where  it  is,  he  is 
always  grasping  and  unjust.  In  such  cases,  con- 
ditions of  labour  are  often  enlightened,  and  every 
encouragement  is  given  to  intelligent  schemes  for 
spending  leisure  pleasantly. 

COWLEY  :  A  trap.  A  blind.  What's  the 
result?  In  such  places  strikes  are  unheard  of. 

DR.  W.  :  Is  that  very  deplorable? 

COWLEY  :  I  don't  want  to  argue.  Capital's 
the  curse  of  Labour.  That's  all  there  is  to  it.  I 
don't  want  any  more  arguments. 

STEPHEN  :  Arguments  help,  if  they  bring  us 
nearer  to  truth.  We  can  argue  and  differ,  and 
still  be  good  friends. 

CoWLEY  :  Well,  you  can  argue.  I'm  going. 
He  turns  towards  door  left. 


THE   PIPE   OF   PEACE  25 

ALICE  :  Don't  go,  Cowley,  I  don't  want  you 
to.  I'm  sure  Mr.  Cole  likes  to  hear  both  sides; 
and  I  like  to  hear  his,  as  well  as  yours.  COWLEY 
resumes  his  old  position  rather  reluctantly. 

STEPHEN  (rising) :  I  think  it's  I  who  ought  to 
go.  I  hope  you'll  forgive  me,  Mr.  Brandon, 
for  coming  unasked  to  your  home,  and  talking 
so  much.  He  says  this  very  pleasantly,  with  no 
trace  of  resentment. 

ROBERT  :  No,  no,  don't  go.  Cowley's  full  of 
enthusiasm.  But  he  only  wants  what  all  the  rest 
of  us  want  ...  to  make  the  best  bargain  we  can 
for  the  men. 

COWLEY  (with  a  mild  resentful  outburst) : 
What  is  capital,  when  all's  said?  Capital 
doesn't  make  things. 

STEPHEN  :  It's  one  of  the  means  without  which 
things  can't  be  made.  It's  easy  (he  sits 
again)  not  to  think  straight  about  capital.  The 
source  of  capital  is  thrift  .  .  .  and  capability. 
If  we  look  for  a  self-respecting  old  age,  and  have 
any  thought  for  our  wives  and  children  when  we 
are  gone,  we  must  save.  If  we  save,  and  want 
to  make  the  most  of  our  savings,  we  must  invest. 
All  the  money  can't  be  invested  in  trustee  securi- 
ties ;  they  have  no  use  for  anything  like  all  of  it. 
So  we  put  our  money  into  industrial  securities. 
Enormous  sums  that  go  to  start  industries  don't 
pay  a  dividend  for  years,  perhaps  not  at  all. 
Sometimes  you  get  twenty  per  cent.,  or  more; 
sometimes  you  get  nothing.  Average  it,  and  the 
investor  doesn't  get  a  big  return  for  his  money. 


26  THE   PIPE   OF   PEACE 

You  can't  say  to  a  man  who  has  got  a  few  pounds, 
or  a  few  thousands  to  invest :  'If  this  thing  pros- 
pers, you  get  five  per  cent,  of  the  profits,  or  a 
little  more,  and  the  rest  will  be  divided  among 
the  workers ;  if  it  fails,  you  lose  your  money,  and 
there'll  be  nobody  to  pay  you  back  a  penny  of  it. ' 
Bring  that  proposition  to  a  man  who  has  saved 
money  by  hard  work,  and  he  won't  look  at  it. 

DR.  W.  :  You  wouldn't  yourself,  would  you, 
Cowley  ? 

COWLEY  :  Let  the  workmen  manage  the 
industries,  and  they'll  pay  all  right. 

STEPHEN  :  I  wish  we  could  rely  on  that.  All 
over  the  country  there  are  men  who  began  in  the 
shops,  saved  money,  and  started  for  themselves. 
Some  succeed,  some  fail. 

BOB  :  Look  at  Joe  Kennedy  .  .  .  that's  what 
he  did.  Bankrupt  in  three  years  .  .  .  now  he's 
back  at  the  bench. 

COWLEY  :  Look  at  John  Wharton  .  .  .  that's 
how  he  started.  Now  he's  worth  a  hundred 
thousand  ...  so  they  say. 

STEPHEN  :  Would  he  find  money  to  start  you  in 
business,  Mr.  Smith,  if  he  wasn't  to  get  a  good 
share  of  the  profits? 

DR.  W.  :  He's  right,  Cowley.  Whoever  finds 
capital  must  have  a  sporting  chance.  There 
must  be  prizes  as  well  as  blanks. 

COWLEY  :  What  about  land  and  houses? 
That's  capital,  in  another  form. 

STEPHEN  :  I've  nothing  to  say  for  the  man  who 
owns  half-a-dozen  big  estates,  with  big  mansions, 


THE   PIPE   OF   PEACE  27 

and  leaves  them  empty  ten  months  in  the  year. 
Sometimes  they  realize  their  responsibilities,  but 
the  system's  wrong.  It's  got  to  go  ...  it's 
going. 

CoWLEY  :  It  is,  neck  and  crop. 

STEPHEN  :  But  the  man  with  one  big  house, 
and  land  round  it  is  quite  another  thing ;  and  the 
man  who  owns  a  few  houses,  and  takes  the  rents 
is  another  thing.  It's  not  so  very  long  since  it 
was  one  of  the  commonest  ways  of  investing 
savings.  The  limited  liability  company  is  com- 
paratively new. 

CoWLEY  :  Seems,  according  to  you,  the 
world's  full  cf  kind-hearted  people  who  are 
mostly  thinking  how  they  can  do  their  neighbours 
a  good  turn.  To  some  of  us  it  seems  full  of  folk 
trying  to  pick  one  another's  pockets. 

STEPHEN  :  A  man  once  had  two  pairs  of  spec- 
tacles. Through  one  he  saw  a  pleasant,  kindly 
world ;  through  the  other  he  saw  nothing  but 
selfishness  and  roguery.  But  it  was  the  same 
world  all  the  time.  Of  course,  we  are  all  fighting 
for  ourselves  to  a  point ;  there's  no  harm  in  that, 
if  we  fight  fair.  There  are  scoundrels  in  plenty, 
and  when  we  catch  'em,  let's  rap  their  knuckles 
hard  :  they  deserve  it.  What's  wrong  with 
capital  and  labour  is  that  both  approach  a  differ- 
ence with  an  obstinate  determination  to  have  their 
own  way. 

CoWLEY  :  It's  just  fine  talk,  and  leads  nowhere. 
Capital  for  generations  has  got  the  best  of  Labour,. 


28 

and  it  can't  get  out  of  the  quarrel  with  clean 
hands. 

ROBERT  :  Cowley's  right  there,  Mr.  Cole. 

STEPHEN  :  I  agree. 

CoWLEY  :  Oh,  you  do  ! 

STEPHEN  :  Entirely.  In  the  past  Capital  has  a 
bad  record.  It  paid  too  little,  and  got  too  much. 
Not  in  all  cases,  mind  you.  There  are  firms, 
generations  old,  that  have  little  in  their  history  to 
be  ashamed  of.  But  there  is  a  black  record. 

COWLEY  :  Very  well,  then. 

STEPHEN :  But  things  have  been  different, 
better  in  most  respects,  the  last  twenty  years. 
Employers  who  are  not  willing  to  deal  fairly  with 
their  men  are  not  so  many  as  they  were.  They 
admit  wrong  in  the  past,  and  are  prepared  to 
make  amends. 

BOB:  I'm  with  you  there,  sir;  and,  to  my 
mind,  there's  nothing  to  be  gained  by  for  ever 
raking  up  old  grievances. 

ROBERT  :  Father's  right.  Stand  for  what's 
just,  and  stand  firm,  I  say.  But  you  won't 
make  a  better  bargain  with  a  man  by  abusing  his 
father,  and  his  grandfather. 

COWLEY  :  Oh,  that's  all  right. 

STEPHEN  :  We've  a  good  deal  in  common,  all 
of  us,  after  all. 

COWLEY  :   And  a  good  deal  of  difference. 

STEPHEN  (he  rises,  and  shades  hands  with  BOB 
and  ROBERT) :  Good  night,  Mr.  Brandon.  Good 
night,  sir.  I'm  much  obliged  to  you  for  giving 


THE   PIPE   OF   PEACE  29 

me  so  much  of  your  time,  and  (laughing)  letting 
me  talk  so  much. 

BOB  :  Robert,  why  not  ask  Mr.  Cole  to  come 
to  the  meeting  next  Monday.  There  can  be  no 
harm  in  the  men  hearing  all  sides. 

ROBERT  :  He's  welcome,  if  he  likes  to  come. 

COWLEY  :  He  can  come  to  the  meeting. 
Whether  he  speaks  is  for  the  men  to  say.  It's 
their  meeting,  and  they'll  settle  who  they'll  listen 
to. 

ROBERT :  That's  right.  It's  the  men's 
meeting. 

STEPHEN  :  That's  all  I  want.  Thank  you,  Mr. 
Brandon.  To  the  others.  Good  evening. 

STEPHEN  goes  out,  by  door  left. 

COWLEY  (after  a  pause) :  Look  here,  Robert, 
this  is  no  good.  Who  is  this  chap,  anyway? 
Why  should  he  come  to  our  meeting?  What's 
he  going  to  do  between  now  and  Monday  ?  Go 
to  other  factories  .  .  .  and  unsettle  the  men  .  .  . 
just  making  them  wobble  when  what  we  want 
most  is  to  make  'em  stand  solid  !  That's  not 
leaving  it  to  the  men.  We  want  no  sort  of  inter- 
ference. 

ALICE  :  Cowley,  you  really  are  funny.  Three 
of  the  men  who  spoke  at  the  meeting  had  never 
been  in  the  place  before.  Why  didn't  you  tell 
them  not  to  interfere? 

ALAN  and  JUDY  come  in  by  door  left. 


30  THE   PIPE   OF   PEACE 

JUDY  :  Good  evening,  Doctor.  Good  evening, 
Cowley.  To  the  others.  Good  evening. 

DR.  W.  :  Good  evening,  my  dear. 

ALAN  :  We've  just  come  from  Major  Arm- 
strong's. He's  had  a  telegram  from  London. 
It's  decided.  War  is  declared. 

BOB:  War! 

There  is  silence  for  a  few  moments,  while  all 
realize  the  full  force  of  ALAN'S  news.  Then 
JUDY  goes  over  to  the  chair  right  where  STEPHEN 
has  been  sitting,  and  ALAN  goes  over,  and  up 
to  the  right  of  the  table  to  the  back  of  his  father's 
chair. 

ROBERT  (slowly,  and  after  another  pause) :  Are 
you  sure  ? 

BOB  :  War  ! 

ALAN  :  There's  no  doubt.      I'm  afraid,  none. 

BOB  (after  looking  at  his  sons,  one  after 
another) :  It's  a  great  .  .  .  calamity,  a  terrible 
.  .  .  misfortune.  He  is  greatly  affected. 
ALAN  quietly  puts  his  hand  on  his  father's 
shoulder. 

DR.  W.  :  No,  Bob,  we  won't  say  that.  It's  a 
grave  responsibility.  It  would  have  been  a 
calamity,  if  we  had  heard  the  call,  and  hadn't 
answered. 

ALAN  (after  a  short  pause)  :  I  met  Arnold  Pen- 
man. He  was  on  his  way  to  say  good-bye  to  his 
mother.  He's  off  by  the  six  o'clock  train  in  the 
morning  to  enlist.  '  They've  no  use  for  me 


THE   PIPE   OF   PEACE  31 

here.     I'll  try  my  luck  out  there.     I'm  for  Eng- 
land,' he  said. 

COWLEY  and  ROBERT  look  at  each  other.  The 
Doctor  watches  them  for  a  moment. 

DR.  W.  :  Good  luck  to  him  ! 

ROBERT  :  Good  for  Arnold  ! 

BOB  :  God  bless  him  ! 

ALAN  (coming  down  to  JUDY)  :  This  will 
change  our  plans,  Judy.  There's  other  things 
than  holidays  to  think  of  now. 

ROBERT  :  And  other  things  than  differences  at 
home. 

DR.  W.  :  I  must  look  up  my  kit. 

ALICE  :  Doctor  !  You  mustn't  think  of  it. 
You're  too  .  .  . 

DR.  W.  :  Too  old?  Old,  be  hanged.  I  was 
in  Africa  in  ninety-nine,  within  a  month  of  the 
start.  I  know  my  job. 

COWLEY  (he  looks  at  his  watch;  then  goes  to 
pegs  up  left,  and  takes  his  cap)  :  Walk  down  the 
road  with  me,  Alice.  She  goes  to  him  as  he 
comes  down  lejt  a  little.  She  looks  into  his  face, 
and  sees  determination  there.  She  is  frightened. 
He  puts  his  arm  round  herf  and  Jjzsses  her.  It 
can't  be  helped,  old  girl.  I'm  for  England,  too. 

COWLEY  and  ALICE  go  out  together  by  door 
left. 

ROBERT  goes  down  in  front  of  table  to  door  left  ; 
opens  it,  and  looks  out  for  a  moment.  The 


32  THE   PIPE   OF   PEACE 

sound  of  distant  shouts  and  cheering  is  heard. 
He  closes  the  door.  ALAN  and  JUDY  are  right, 
she  sitting,  and  he  standing  by  her. 

ROBERT  (as  he  closes  the  door) :  Rough  on  little 
Alice. 

BOB  has  listened  to  CoWLEY  and  watched  him 
and  ALICE  together  and  as  they  went  out.  He 
is  now  watching  ROBERT.  He  hears  what  he  has 
just  said,  and  looks  from  him  to  JUDY  and  ALAN. 
DOCTOR  WEST  has  risen,  and  is  standing  in  front 
of  the  fireplace  near  BOB.  BOB  looks  up  at  him, 
and  pulls  himself  together.  The  DOCTOR  takes 
out  his  pouch  from  his  pocket, and  fills  up  his 
pipe.  Robert  sits  in  chair  left  of  table,  very 
grave  and  thoughtful. 

DR.  W.  (offering  his  pouch  to  BOB)  :  Fill  up, 
Bob. 

BOB  looks  at  him,  but  takes  no  notice  of  the 
pouch  he  is  offering.  Mechanically  he  takes  his 
tobacco  box  from  his  pocket,  and  fills  his  pipe  as 
he  looks  from  ROBERT  to  ALAN.  The  DOCTOR 
has  lighted  his  pipe,  and  gives  the  lighted  match 
to  BOB. 

BOB  (as  he  takes  the  lighted  match;    almost 

inaudibly)  :  Thank  you,  Doctor. 


THE  CURTAIN  FALLS. 


THE   PIPE   OF   PEACE  33 

ACT  II. 

The  scene  is  a  room  in  ROBERT  BRANDON'S 
house.  ROBERT  now  fills  a  responsible  position 
at  the  works.  He  has  also  become  a  man  of 
importance  in  the  little  town,  and  has  recently 
completed  a  year  of  office  as  Mayor.  His  house 
is  a  simple,  but  quite  substantial  one. 

There  is  a  lighted  fire  on  the  right,  a  well- 
stocked  bookcase  in  the  centre  of  the  back  wall, 
and  a  door  leading  to  a  small  hall  down  left. 
There  are  arm  chairs  above  and  below  the  fire, 
and  another  between  them,  a  table  in  the  centre 
of  the  room,  with  chairs  at  the  back  and  at  each 
end.  There  is  another  chair  up  left,  and  a  small 
sofa  above  the  door. 

It  is  a  December  evening  in  1919. 

When  the  curtain  rises,  there  is  no  one  on  the 
stage.  Voices  are  heard  outside  the  door  left, 
mingling  with  ROBERT'S  :  'Good  night,  Robert/ 
'  Good  night,  Mr.  Brandon.'  Good  night,  sir.* 

ROBERT  (heard  speaking  in  the  hall) :  Good 
night,  William.  Good  night.  Good  night, 
Wilson. 

The  street  door  is  heard  to  shut.  ROBERT 
comes  into  the  room,  and  closes  the  door.  He 
collects  sheets  of  paper,  and  a  newspaper  from 
the  table,  round  which  they  have  been  holding  a 
meeting,  and  puts  them  in  the  drawer  of  the 
lxx>kcase.  This  piece  of  furniture  consists  of  a 
bookshelf,  a  drawer,  and  a  cupboard  combined. 


34  THE  PIPE   OF  PEACE 

He  closes  the  drawer  with  a  sigh  of  satisfaction. 
He  takes  a  book  from  the  bookshelf,  sits  in  a  com- 
fortable arm  chair  above  the  fire,  and  settles  him- 
self, with  evident  pleasure,  to  read.  After  some 
moments  the  front  door  bell  is  heard.  ROBERT 
remains  seated  until  BOB  and  the  DOCTOR  come 
in. 

BOB  is  appreciably  older,  but  serene  and  cheer- 
ful. The  DOCTOR  looks  younger,  in  spite  of  the 
five  intervening  years.  He  has  been  doing  fine 
work  in  France.  Interest  in  his  work,  an  active 
life,  and  the  open  air  have  made  him  more  vigor- 
ous. 

ROBERT  (rising) :  Good  evening,  Doctor, 
Come  and  sit  in  the  arm  chair,  father. 

BOB  who  has  come  in  first  goes  over  to  arm 
chair  above  fire,  and  sits. 

BOB  (as  he  goes  to  his  chair)  :  You  look  tired  r 
my  boy.  I  suppose  you've  been  working  all  day, 
and  half  the  night,  as  usual. 

DR.  W.  (as  he  goes  to  arm  chair  below  fire) : 
Yes,  you  obstinate,  old  contradiction  .  .  . 

BOB  :  No,  Doctor,  Robert's  not  that  .  .  .  not 
obstinate  .  .  .  never  was. 

DR.  W.  :  He's  the  most  .   .   . 

BOB  :  No,  I  won't  have  it.     He's  .   .   . 

ROBERT  (laughing) :  You  two,  wrangling  again. 

DR.  W.  :  I'm  right.  You  are  an  obstinate  old 
contradiction.  You  talk  about  men  not  working 
more  than  forty -eight  hours  a  week,  or  whatever 


THE   PIPE   OF   PEACE  35 

it  is,  and  you  do  twelve  hours  a  day  yourself. 
May  1  smoke  my  pipe  ? 

ROBERT  :  Why,  of  course. 

DR.  W.  :  Fill  up,  Bob.  He  offers  his  pouch. 
BOB  looks  at  him,  gets  pipe  from  his  pocket,  takes 
the  DOCTOR'S  pouch,  and  fills.  ROBERT  holds  a 
light  for  him,  and  he  smokes.  The  DOCTOR  takes 
back  his  pouch,  and  offers  it  to  ROBERT. 

ROBERT  :  No,  thank  you,  Doctor.  As  Dad 
used  to  say,  I  like  a  whiff  o'  flavour  in  mine.  He 
puts  down  his  book  on  the  table,  and  fills  his  pipe 
from  his  tobacco  jar. 

DR.  W.  :  All  right.  Stick  to  your  shag.  Bob's 
getting  civilized.  He's  cultivated  a  taste  in 
tobacco.  He  sits  down,  and  lights  his  pipe. 

BOB  :  It  isn't  my  taste,  Doctor,  it's  my  stomach. 
I've  got  to  humour  it  now-a-days. 

DR.  W.  :  I  see  they've  been  at  you  again.  We 
saw  them  leaving  the  house. 

BOB  :  Have  they  persuaded  you  to  change  your 
mind? 

DR.  W.  :  I  hope  so.  You've  been  the  best 
Mayor  the  town's  had  in  my  remembrance. 
There's  no  chance  of  Lawton  going  on.  He's  a 
sick  man;  he  must  go  South  for  the  Winter. 
You  ought  to  take  office  again ;  nineteen-twenty's 
going  to  be  a  difficult  year.  I  hope  they  made 
you  see  that. 

ROBERT  :  Not  quite.  It's  too  big  a  thing  to 
decide  in  a  minute.  I  must  think  it  out. 

DR.  W.  :  Then  it's  settled.  You're  sure  to 
think  straight,  and  see  what's  right. 


36  THE   PIPE   OF   PEACE 

BOB  :  I  can't  think  as  clear  as  I  did.  My  first 
wish  was  you  should  get  a  rest  from  the  work  and 
worry.  But  the  Doctor's  right.  There's  diffi- 
cult, troublesome  times  before  us. 

ROBERT  :  What '11  you  have,  father,  after  your 
walk?  A  drop  o'  whiskey,  or  ... 

BOB  :  I'd  sooner  have  a  glass  o'  beer.  It  suits 
me  best. 

ROBERT  goes  out. 

BOB  :  Can't  keep  this  plaguey  stuff  alight.  The 
DOCTOR  lights  a  match  and  gives  it  to  him.  Not 
so  bad,  when  it's  fair  started  .  .  .  the  job  is  to 
start  it.  The  DOCTOR  laughs  at  him. 

ROBERT  comes  back  with  a  brown  earthenware 
jug  of  beer,  and  three  glasses.  He  pours  out  a 
glass  and  gives  it  to  BOB. 

ROBERT  :  What's  yours,  Doctor? 

DR.  W.  :  Whiskey.  Just  a  thimble,  and 
plenty  of  water.  ROBERT  gets  a  decanter  of 
whiskey  from  the  cupboard  under  the  bookshelf, 
and  pours  out  a  glass  jor  the  DOCTOR.  There  is 
a  water  bottle  on  the  lower  part  of  the  bookcase. 
The  drawer  and  cupboard  project  in  front  of  the 
bookcase  and  form  a  shelf.  ROBERT  then  pours 
out  a  glass  of  beer  for  himself,  and  sits  at  the  back 
of  the  table. 

DR.  W.  :  Stephen  Cole  walked  into  my  place 
to-day.  He's  making  another  round.  Do  you 
remember  him? 


THE   PIPE   OF   PEACE  37 

ROBERT  :  Well.  I  liked  him.  What  beats 
me  is  how  he  ever  managed  to  get  into  the  army 
at  all  .  .  .  much  less  stick  it  to  the  end. 

DR.  W.  :  Cole's  one  of  the  Medical  Board's 
blessed  mistakes.  According  to  schedule  he  was 
clean  outside  the  limit,  and  they  ought  to  have 
been  courtmartialled  for  potential  manslaughter 
when  they  let  him  through.  But  he  meant 
getting  there  .  .  .  and  he  got  there.  And,  by 
George,  he  did  his  bit.  He's  got  a  brain,  that 
chap.  I  met  him  three  or  four  times  in  France. 
Pause;  he  listens.  There's  your  'phone,  Robert. 

BOB  :  Seems  to  be  always  going.  I  couldn't 
bear  one  o*  them  things  in  my  house. 

ROBERT  goes  out. 

BOB  (looking  round  to  see  ROBERT  has  gone, 
and  that  the  door  is  shut) :  I'm  very  proud  o* 
Robert,  Doctor. 

DR.  W.  :  You're  right  to  be. 

BOB  :  But  I'm  anxious  about  him,  too. 

DR.  W.:  Works  too  hard? 

BOB  :  'Tisn't  only  that.  He  always  worked 
hard.  When  he  was  the  only  one  at  home,  he 
worked  harder  than  ever.  Then,  when  poor  Mr. 
Charles  was  killed  at  Hill  60,  and  old  Mr.  Car- 
dew  was  all  there  was  left  of  the  old  firm  and  he 
asked  Robert  to  take  over  the  whole  control  of 
the  workshops,  he  was  at  the  factory  day  and 
night.  And  he  had  a  worrying  job,  Doctor.  He 
always  did  fair  by  the  firm,  but  he  never  forgot 


412821 


38  THE   PIPE   OF   PEACE 

he  was  one  o*  the  workers.     They  came  first  in 
his  thought. 

DR.  W.  :  I'm  sure  they  did. 

BOB  :  It  isn't  only  the  work,  now.  No  matter 
how  hard  he  was  at  it,  Robert  used  to  be  content 
and  happy.  He  isn't  now. 

DR.  W.  :  He  seems  anxious  at  times  .  .  . 
I've  noticed  that  .  .  .  but  not  unhappy. 

BOB  :  He  could  never  quite  bring  himself  to  be 
patient  about  being  sent  home,  when  he  hadn't 
been  three  months  at  the  front,  and  told  he'd 
never  be  fit  to  go  back. 

DR.  W.  :  Rheumatic  fever's  a  troublesome 
thing.  A  man  has  to  be  careful,  after  that,  when 
he's  in  sight  of  forty  years. 

BOB  :  I  know.  He  had  the  sense  to  know  it, 
too.  But  it  troubled  him. Then  poor  little  David, 
that  hit  him  badly  ...  it  did  us  all  ...  but 
now  it's  something  .  .  .  something  not  going  as 
he  wants  ...  I  don't  know  justly  what  it  is  ... 
and  he  frets  about  it.  I  know.  I  can  see. 

DR.  W.  :  You're  a  queer  old  chap,  Bob  .  .  . 
God  bless  you  !  You  worry  over  these  boys  of 
yours,  like  a  mother. 

BOB  :  It's  twenty  years,  come  Christmas,  since 
they  had  a  mother,  Doctor. 

DR.  W.  :  I  know.  I  know.  Pause.  Cheer- 
fully, making  a  fresh  start.  When  does  Alan 
move  to  his  new  job  ? 

BOB  :  Next  month.  It's  a  great  change.  All 
his  life  among  his  own  people  ...  to  a  great 
church,  in  a  great  city. 


THE   PIPE   OF  PEACE  39 

DR.  W.  :  He  won't  stop  there  either,  all  his 
life.  He's  for  London  before  he's  done.  He'll 
have  his  name  in  the  papers  some  day. 

BOB  :  God's  been  good  to  me.  They've  pros- 
pered, and  all  spared  to  me  .  .  .  but  David. 
There  are  tears  in  his  voice. 

DR.  W.  :  He  made  a  good  end,  old  friend ; 
there's  that  to  be  proud  of. 

BOB  :    I  know.     I  am  proud  of  that,  but  .   .   . 

ROBERT  comes  back.  He  sits  again  in  chair 
behind  table. 

ROBERT  :  It's  Cowley ;  they're  just  coming 
along. 

DR.  W.  :  He  and  Alice;  were  busy  in  their  gar- 
den, when  I  passed.  They've  done  wonders  .  .  . 
making  quite  a  show. 

BOB  :  Alice  didn't  take  much  heed  o'  garden- 
ing, before  she  was  married. 

ROBERT :  It's  Cowley 's  hobby.  Alice  has 
taken  to  it. 

DR.  W.  :  Wise  wife  !  He  rises ,  and  goes  to 
the  right  top  corner  of  the  table,  and  picks  up  the 
book  ROBERT  has  placed  there.  He  is  standing 
a  little  to  the  right  of  ROBERT.  Fond  of  Gold- 
smith, Robert.  You  were  reading  him  when  I 
was  here  last  week. 

ROBERT  :  Yes,  I  like  him,  he's  restful.  I've 
been  feeling  sometimes,  lately,  I'd  like  to  take  a 
stout  stick,  hitch  on  my  bundle,  and  tramp 
through  Europe,  as  he  did. 


40  THE   PIPE   OF   PEACE 

DR.  W.  (reading  from  a  page  of  the  book  a' 
which  it  is  already  open.  ROBERT  has  placed  it 
on  the  table,  open,  with  the  printed  page  next  to 
the  table) : 

*  From  Art  more  various  are  the  blessings 

sent, 

Wealth,  commerce,  honour,  liberty,  con- 
tent; 
Yet  these  each  other's  powers   so   strong 

contest, 

That  either  seems  destructive  of  the  rest. 
Where  wealth  and  freedom  reign,  content- 
ment fails, 
And  honour  sinks  where  commerce  long 

prevails.* 
Is  that  your  mark  against  the  passage,  Robert? 

ROBERT  :  Yes,  a  long  time  ago.  It  always 
puzzled  me.  I  begin  to  understand  it  now. 

*  Where  wealth  and  freedom  reign,  content- 

ment fails.' 

You  got  it  when  you  read  it.    I  suppose  it  means, 
we're  never  satisfied,  or  likely  to  be. 

DR.  W.  :   That's  about  it,  Robert.     He  reads. 
4  And  honour  sinks  where  commerce   long 

prevails.' 
It's  often  true;  not  always,  thank  God. 

ROBERT  :  No,  not  always;  but  often  enough 
to  be  the  explanation  of  industrial  war,  three 
times  out  of  five. 

DR.  W.  :  Oliver  was  a  great  chap  for  packing 
the  heart  of  a  truth  in  a  phrase.  There's  two 
more  lines  worth  remembering.  They'd  save  a 


THE   PIPE   OF   PEACE  41 

lot  of  grousing.     He  turns  over  two  pages  and 
reads. 

*  For  just  experience  tells,  in  every  soil, 
That  those  who  think  must  govern  those 
that  toil/ 

ROBERT  :   Yes,  that's  true,  too. 

DR.  W.  :  Oh,  he  was  a  great  chap.  He  puts 
down  the  fcoo£. 

ROBERT  :   You  gave  me  that  Book,  Doctor. 

DR.  W.  :   I  did? 

BOB  :  Yes,  I  remember  that.  It  was  in  eighty- 
seven.  Robert  was  twelve.  He'd  helped  a  bit, 
when  half  the  men  were  down  with  fever,  and 
there  was  a  kind  o'  panic.  They  closed  the 
works.  Robert  ran  errands  .  .  .  did  what  he 
could  to  help. 

DR.  W.  :  He  helped  to  save  lives.  I  remember 
I  remember. 

CoWLEY  comes  in.    He  looks  extraordinary  fit. 

COWLEY  :   How  are  you,  father?    Good  even- 
ing. Doctor.     To  ROBERT.    Good  evening. 
BOB  :   How  are  you,  my  boy? 
ROBERT  :   Glass  of  beer,  Cowley  ? 
COWLEY  :   No,  thank  you. 

ROBERT  puts  whisky  decanter  into  cupboard, 
beer  jug,  water  bottle  and  glasses  on  to  bookshelf. 
BOB  and  the  DOCTOR  have  put  their  glasses  on  to 
mantel  shelf. 

DR.  W.  :   Where's  Alice? 


42  THE  PIPE   OF  PEACE 

COWLEY  :  She  ran  into  Mrs.  Patten's.  She's 
sick  .  .  .  quite  sudden,  I  think. 

DR.  W.  :  Mrs.  Patten? 

CoWLEY  :  Her  girl's  been  ailing  for  a  week ; 
now  she's  down. 

DR.  W.  :  I  never  knew.  They  didn't  send 
word.  I'd  better  go  along. 

The  DOCTOR  goes  out. 

BOB  :  I'm  afraid  there's  a  deal  o'  sickness  in 
the  town. 

ROBERT  :   I'm  afraid  there  is. 

BOB  :  Poor  things  !  It's  the  want  o'  proper 
food.  They  can't  get  it.  How  can  they? 
Pause.  ROBERT  looks  worried;  CoWLEY  very 
serious,  but  determined.  CoWLEY  sits  in  chair 
left  of  table. 

CoWLEY  :  Stephen  Cole's  in  the  town. 

ROBERT  :  So  I  hear. 

CoWLEY  :  He  was  talking  to  the  men  in  the 
yard.  Have  you  seen  him? 

ROBERT  :  Not  since  nineteen  fourteen.  The 
Doctor  says  he  met  him  in  France  :  did  wonders 
there,  by  all  accounts. 

COWLEY  :  That's  right.  He's  a  good  chap. 
But  we  don't  want  him  here.  There's  trouble 
enough  before  us,  as  it  is. 

ROBERT  :  Seems,  Cowley,  these  times,  there's 
always  trouble  before  us. 

COWLEY  :  What  line  are  you  taking?  We 
ought  to  know.  The  men  won't  go  back  till  the 
masters  give  in.  You  know  that. 


THE   PIPE   OF   PEACE  43 

ROBERT  :  Do  you  think  war  time  wages  can 
go  on  always  ? 

COWLEY  :  Why  not?  The  heads  of  depart- 
ments are  all  on  our  side. 

ROBERT  :  1  know. 

COWLEY  :  You  chose  the  men.  You  put  them 
there. 

ROBERT  :  Yes,  I  know. 

COWLEY :  Tom  Coppock's  here,  too.  He 
might  do  a  lot  of  good  .  .  .  stiffen  the  men. 

ROBERT  :  Tom  gets  about. 

COWLEY  :  That's  what  he's  paid  for. 

ROBERT :    He    earns    his    money.        Tom's 

got  a  way  with  him with  the  women 

in  particular  ...  so  they  say. 

COWLEY  :  What  do  you  mean  ? 

ROBERT  :  The  women  have  got  something  to 
do  with  it,  haven't  they?  .Tom  knows  it  helps 
to  have  the  women  on  his  side. 

COWLEY  :  The  women  are  all  right. 

ROBERT :  Yes.  Get  'em  together,  they're 
solid  enough ;  but  they  don't  tell  quite  the  same 
tale  at  home. 

COWLEY  :  You  don't  understand  *em,  Robert. 
You're  not  married. 

BOB  :  Robert's  right.     I  hear  things. 

ROBERT  :  I  know  Alice  is  firm  enough ;  taken 
to  talking  to  the  women  herself,  hasn't  she? 

COWLEY  (after  a  pause) :  Now  and  then. 

ROBERT  :   Speaking  to-morrow,  I  hear. 

COWLEY  (surprised,  but  trying  not  to  show  fl)  : 
Where? 


44  THE   PIPE   OF   PEACE 

ROBERT  :  Lower  town,  the  girls*  club.    Tom's 
in  the  chair,  isn't  he?     Thought  you  knew. 
COWLEY  :   Something  just  settled,  I  suppose. 
ROBERT  :  Very  likely. 
BOB  :   Judy  was  saying  so,  at  tea  time. 

COWLEY,  a  little  uneasy,  gets  up,  walks  up  to 
the  back  on  the  left  of  the  stage,  then  down  to  the 
lower  end  of  the  sofa,  where  he  sits. 

ALAN  and  JUDY  come  in.  Both  look  tired. 
ALAN  says  'Good  evening.'  JUDY  nods  to 
ROBERT  and  COWLEY,  and  goes  over  to  the  fire, 
where  she  sits  in  the  chair  to  the  left  of  BOB.  It 
is  not  an  arm  chair. 

BOB  (looking  at  JUDY)  :  You're  tired,  my  dear. 
There  is  a  moment's  silence;  then  JUDY,  after  a 
struggle,  buries  her  face  in  her  hands  and  sobs. 
Pause.  Don't  cry,  my  dear,  don't  cry.  What  is 
it?  ROBERT  comes  to  her  and  puts  his  hand 
affectionately  on  her  shoulder.  ALAN,  who  is  up 
left,  is  watching. 

ALAN  :  She's  been  with  me  on  my  rounds. 
She  begged  to  come.  She's  been  a  great  help. 
He  crosses  to  the  arm  chair  below  the  fire  and 
sits.  He  touches  JUDY  affectionately  as  he  passes 
her. 

JUDY  (taking  ROBERT'S  hand,  which  is  still  on 
her  shoulder):  Can  nothing  be  done,  Robert? 
It's  five  weeks  since  the  strike  began  .  .  .  and 
no  sign  of  the  end.  The  shops  say  they  can't 
give  credit  any  more.  How  can  they?  The 


THE   PIPE   OF   PEACE  45 

children  are  crying  for  food.  The  women  are 
starving.  They  are  wonderful  .  .  .  but  they 
can't  go  on.  Can  nothing  be  done? 

ROBERT  :  It's  very  difficult,  my  dear.  There's 
a  meeting  to-morrow.  Please  Cod,  some  good 
may  come  ot  it. 

JUDY  :  Try.  Try.  Everybody  trusts  you, 
Robert.  Oh,  I  know  they  are  obstinate,  both 
sides  .  .  .  but  try,  Robert,  try. 

ROBERT  :   I  shall,  my  dear. 

ALICE  and  TOM  COPPOCK  come  in.  ToM  is 
twenty-six;  he  is  six  feet  high,  with  fair  curly 
hair,  and  a  fair  moustache.  He  is  a  working 
man,  but  he  is  by  far  the  handsomest  man  in  the 
play,  and  the  most  distinguished  in  appearance. 
ALICE  is  in  a  state  of  controlled,  but  intense 
excitement.  There  is  something  of  hero  worship 
in  her  look  and  manner,  as  she  follows  TOM  with 
her  eyes.  ToM  shakes  hands  with  ROBERT,  nods 
to  the  others,  and  sits  at  the  top  of  the  sofa,  on 
COWLEY*  S  right.  ROBERT  goes  back  to  his  chair 
at  the  back  of  the  table.  CoWLEY  has  watched 
TOM  and  ALICE  as  they  came  in ;  and  it  is  clear 
that  he  notes  and  is  puzzled  by  ALICE'S  interest 
in  ToM.  ALICE  has  taken  off  her  hat  and  placed 
it  on  chair  up  left.  She  goes  behind  table,  and 
sits  in  chair  right  of  table. 

ALICE  (to  CoWLEY,  as  she  goes  to  her  chair) : 
Tom's  been  wonderful,  Cowley.  He's  been  from 
house  to  house  all  day  till  he  went  to  the  yard  to 
speak  to  the  men,  and  he's  been  to  more  houses 


46  THE   PIPE   OF   PEACE 

since.  Twelve  hours,  and  hardly  given  himself 
time  for  a  bite  and  a  cup  of  tea.  CoWLEY  looks  a 
little  uncomfortable  as  ALICE  tells  of  TOM'S 
doings.  TOM  is  also  a  little  embarrassed  and  not 
pleased  at  ALICE'S  praise. 

CoWLEY  :  I  don't  see  the  sense  o*  that.  He 
looks  at  TOM.  Fighters  must  keep  fit  ...  as 
he  ought  to  know.  We  learnt  that  plain  enough 
over  there. 

JUDY  (slowly  looking  round  at  TOM)  :  Are  you 
a  fanatic,  Mr.  Coppock? 

TOM:   A  fanatic?     I,  Mrs.  Brandon?     No. 
JUDY  :    I  thought,  perhaps,  you  were. 
TOM:  Why? 

JUDY :  What  Alice  said  .  .  .  about  your 
food.  She  gets  up  and  faces  the  company.  Do 
you  know  there  are  sick  women  starving  .  .  . 
and  pretending  they  get  plenty  to  eat? — because 
they  are  too  proud  to  tell  the  truth  .  .  .  afraid  to 
do  anything  to  make  it  more  difficult  for  their  men 
folk? 

ALICE  :  And  they're  fine  women,  too  .  .  . 
good  luck  to  'em.  I  wish  I'd  done  as  much. 

JUDY  :  Yes,  they  are,  fine.  1  honour  them. 
But  1  pity  them  .  .  .  and  I  want  to  punish  the 
men  who  make  them  suffer  so. 

TOM  :   Who  are  they,  Mrs.  Brandon? 

JUDY  :  I  don't  know.  I  wish  I  did.  Nobody 
seems  to  know. 

TOM  :   I  know. 


/  THE   PIPE   OF   PEACE  47 

The  front  door  bell  rings.  There  is  a  pause. 
STEPHEN  COLE  comes  in.  He  shakes  hands  with 
the  women,  nods  to  the  men  on  the  sofa ;  shakes 
hands  with  ROBERT,  and  sits  left  of  the  table,  on 
ROBERT'S  left. 

COWLEY  :  Go  on,  Tom.  Tell  her,  and  tell 
him.  He  indicates  STEPHEN.  I  don't  think  he's 
quite  clear  about  it. 

STEPHEN  :   Clear  about  what? 

ALICE  :  Judy  was  asking  who  are  the  men 
who've  brought  about  this  trouble.  Why  the 
women  and  children  are  starving. 

STEPHEN  :  The  men  are  starving,  too. 

ALICE  :  Oh,  I  know.  They  don't  shirk  their 
share. 

JUDY  :  But  it's  worse  for  the  women  .  .  . 
worst  of  all  for  the  young  mothers,  and  little 
children. 

ALICE  :   Tell  *em,  Tom. 

ToM  :  They  don't  want  telling.  It's  clearer 
than  sunlight.  Everybody  knows  .  .  .  but  those 
who  won't  know.  It's  the  rotten  system  every- 
thing in  England's  run  on.  He  speaks  with 
intense  conviction,  and  his  earnestness  grows  as 
he  goes  on.  It's  the  struggle  to  death  between 
the  few  who  get  all  the  money,  and  the  millions 
who  do  all  the  work. 

COWLEY  :  That's  right,  and  there's  no  answer 
to  it. 

STEPHEN  :  Is  it  just  as  simple  as  all  that? 


48  THE   PIPE   OF   PEACE 

JUDY  :  If  the  world's  unjust  .  .  .  it  is  in  many 
ways  .  .  .  get  new  laws  made. 

TOM  :  Damn  the  laws.  They're  not  made  by 
working  men.  Damn  the  laws,  I  say.  There's 
a  shorter  way  than  that.  We  shan't  wait  for  new 
laws. 

STEPHEN  :  Damning  the  laws  won't  help  us, 
Tom.  A  wise  man  once  said  :  '  The  law  is 
greater  than  the  men  who  make  it.  The  wisdom 
of  the  East,  the  genius  of  Athens,  the  modern 
sense  of  righteousness  are  in  it.'  The  law 
changes,  but  its  essence  has  lasted  through  cen- 
turies .  .  .  and  will  last. 

TOM  :  That's  lawyer's  talk ;  it*s  no  good. 
We  mean  what  we  say,  no  less,  and  we're  going 
to  settle  it.  There's  no  time  for  more  argument. 
There's  too  much  fire  under  the  pot. 

STEPHEN  :  And  what  are  you  doing  towards 
settling  it,  Tom?  What's  your  job?  Did  you 
help  to  lay  the  fire? — or  did  you  set  a  match  to 
it,  and  stir  it  up? 

TOM  (He  rises,  angry,  but,  with  an  effort,  he 
controls  himself,  and  sits  down  again.  He  never, 
for  a  moment,  loses  his  dignity) :  I'm  not  going 
to  be  cross  questioned  by  you.  I  say,  damn  the 
laws  .  .  .  and  damn  the  cowards  who  hold 
back. 

JUDY :  We're  guests  here,  Mr.  Coppock. 
Let's  pretend  to  be  civilized.  She  sits  down. 

TOM  (rising  again  in  anger)  :  I   .   .   . 

ROBERT :  That's  all  right,  Judy,  my  dear. 
That's  all  right,  Tom.  Say  what  you  like.  TOM 


THE   PIPE   OF   PEACE  49 

sits  again.  You're  like  the  rest  of  us,  I  suppose, 
you  just  want  to  do  all  you  can  to  help  the  men ; 
and  to  find  out  the  wisest  way  to  set  about  it. 

TOM  :  Yes,  I  want  to  help  the  men. 

COWLEY :  We  want  fair  play.  We  don't 
mean  to  do  all  the  work,  and  let  others  get  all  the 
plunder. 

TOM  :  Plunder  .  .  .  that's  right  .  .  .  that's 
the  word  .  .  .  plunder. 

STEPHEN  :  You  want  fair  play.  Everybody 
worth  considering  does.  You're  going  to  talk  to 
the  men  to-morrow.  You  want  fair  play.  Then, 
put  the  case  fairly.  Don't  for  a  moment  lose 
sight  of  the  men's  interests.  Put  your  point  of 
view.  But  tell  them  there  are  thousands  of 
working  men,  men  with  brains  as  good  as  yours, 
who  believe  that  you  and  your  friends  are  doing 
a  great  injury  to  the  working  man,  and  not  help- 
ing him.  If  you  want  fair  play,  put  that  to  them 
very  clearly ;  you  know  the  arguments  on  their 
side,  as  well  as  yours.  And  let  the  men  decide 
for  themselves. 

TOM  :  I  know  what  fair  play  is,  and  I  don't 
want  you  to  tell  me.  And  I  know  what  we  mean 
to  get  .  .  .  mean  to  get,  mind  you.  And  the 
men  don't  go  back  with  less  ...  no  less  by  a 
penny  in  pay  ...  no  less  by  a  line  in  condi- 
tions. 

STEPHEN :  Then  the  other  point  of  view 
doesn't  interest  you. 

BOB  :  Let  Mr.  Cole  put  the  other  point  of  view. 
I  'd  like  to  hear. 


50  THE   PIPE   OF   PEACE 

TOM  :  I  came  here  to  fetch  Cowley,  to  settle 
things  for  to-morrow's  meeting,  not  to.be  taught 
my  job.  He  gets  up,  and  moves  towards  the 
door. 

ALICE  :  Let  him  say  what  he  wants  to  say, 
Tom.  Trust  you  to  answer  him  back,  and  come 
out  best.  TOM  sits  reluctantly. 

ROBERT  :  There's  no  harm,  Tom,  in  hearing 
what  any  man  has  to  say.  It  settles  nothing,  and 
binds  nobody. 

BOB  :    Now,  Mr.  Cole. 

JUDY  :    I'd  like  to  hear,  too,  Mr.  Cole. 

STEPHEN  :  Let's  take  wages  first.  It's  no  use 
telling  us  what  people  could  get  in  a  perfect 
world.  It's  not  a  perfect  world ;  it's  just  a  good 
and  bad  world.  And  the  wise  man  welcomes 
the  good  and  makes  the  best  of  it ;  and  keeps  a 
sharp  look  out  for  every  chance  to  mend  the  bad. 
It's  no  use  saying  men  and  women  would  all  be 
good,  if  the  conditions  were  what  they  should  be. 
It's  the  nature  of  men  and  women  to  be 
good  and  bad.  It  always  has  been  so;  I'm 
afraid  it  always  will  be.  The  useful  thing  is  to 
see  things  as  they  are ;  to  face  them  squarely,  and 
make  the  best  of  them.  I  don't  mean  put  up 
with  things  as  they  are ;  but  mend  them  till  they 
are  as  good  as  we  can  make  them.  That's  true, 
right  through  ...  of  all  economic  questions,  as 
of  everything  else.  For  instance,  it's  folly  to 
forget  that  England's  an  island,  and  that  there 
are  many  things  we  want  badly  that  other 
countries  can  send  us  better  than  we  can  make 


THE   PIPE   OF   PEACE  51 

them,  or  grow  them.     And  it's  no  use  forgetting 
that  Britain  is  a  great  Empire.  .  .   . 
TOM  :   It's  got  no  right  to  be. 

STEPHEN  :  That  may  be.  1  don't  contradict 
it;  and  I  don't  altogether  admit  it.  Anyhow, 
there  is  the  fact.  Britain  is  a  great  Empire.  And 
if  you  know  anything  of  the  people  of  the  Empire 
...  all  classes  in  all  countries  .  .  .  you  know 
it's  just  futile  to  expect  that  she  will  ever  surren- 
der her  place  as  a  great  Empire  as  long  as  she  can 
hold  on. 

TOM  :  When  the  voice  of  the  people  is  heard 
everywhere,  as  it  is  already  in  some  places,  the 
countries  that  have  grabbed  the  wealth  of  other 
countries,  and  made  their  workers  slaves,  will 
soon  find  that  they  can't  hold  on.  Then  there'll 
be  freedom,  freedom  worth  the  name,  every- 
where. 

ALAN  :  We're  learning,  in  these  days,  Mr. 
Coppock,  that  Empire  can  go  hand  in  hand  with 
freedom. 

STEPHEN  :  Freedom  doesn't  mean  isolation. 
You  want  a  working  agreement  with  your  neigh- 
bours in  the  street,  and  their  goodwill,  if  you  are 
to  prosper,  or  even  get  the  pleasant  courtesies  of 
life.  Every  country  wants  the  goodwill  of  neigh- 
bour countries.  That's  truer  of  England  than 
most,  because  it  is  an  island ;  we  want  the  good- 
will of  countries  across  the  seas,  or  we  shall  go 
short  of  supplies.  That's  just  a  fact ;  and  there's 
nothing  for  it  but  to  take  it  into  account. 


52  THE  PIPE   OF   PEACE 

TOM  :  It's  no  use  blithering  about  goodwill, 
when  one  man  gets  a  thousand  a  week,  and  half- 
a-dozen  houses,  and  another  hasn't  got  a  roof 
to  cover  him. 

ALICE  :  Answer  that,  Mr.  Cole,  if  you  can. 

CoWLEY  :  He  can't,  nobody  can ;  there's  no 
justice  in  it. 

STEPHEN  :  No.  That's  quite  true.  There  is 
no  justice  in  that ;  and,  by  now,  the  world  has 
recognised  that  there  is  no  justice  in  it.  But  it 
is  just  worth  while  to  recognise  the  difficulty.  You 
complain,  because  others  have  got  what  you 
haven't  .  .  .  something  that,  however  they 
came  by  it,  belongs  to  them.  In  principle  it 
would  be  the  same  thing  if  a  man  with  no  coat, 
or  with  only  one,  complained  of  injustice  because 
you've  got  three  coats.  Isn't  it  because  of  this 
underlying  principle  that  to  put  things  right  is 
not  the  work  of  a  day,  or  a  year,  or  of  ten?  The 
point  to  grasp  is  that  we  are  doing  something 
towards  it.  You'll  help  nobody  by  going  to  the 
opposite  extreme  and  telling  men  and  women  to 
expect  equal  wealth  and  prosperity ;  unless  you 
tell  them  at  the  same  time  that  if  they  want  to 
climb  the  ladder,  they  must  have  the  grit  and  wit 
to  climb  better  than  their  neighbours.  Equal 
education,  equal  opportunity  there  ought  to  be ; 
fight  for  that  for  all  you're  worth  .  .  .  but, 
roughly  speaking,  even  with  equal  chances  the 
best  men  will  get  to  the  top  of  the  ladder,  and 
some  of  us  must  stand  at  the  foot,  and  help  to 
hold  it  up.  Envy  is  the  the  vice  of  fools;  and 


THE   PIPE   OF   PEACE  53 

even  failure  has  its  compensations.  The  true 
wisdom  is  to  help  men  to  better  themselves,  and 
give  up  grousing  for  what  they  haven't  got  the 
wit  to  get. 

COWLEY  :  We  want  fair  pay  for  fair  work. 

STEPHEN  :  If  that's  all  you  want,  you  ought  to 
get  it ;  and  you  will.  But  you  can't  settle  wages 
in  England  as  if  England  were  all  the  world.  We 
must  be  able  to  compete  with  foreign  markets; 
we  must  be  able  to  produce  as  well,  and  at  the 
same  price,  as  other  countries. 

TOM  :  You  don't  seem  to  begin  to  know  what 
we're  after.  We  mean  wages  to  go  up  every- 
where, in  every  country  as  well  as  England ;  then 
there'll  be  no  cutting  in  the  markets,  prices  will 
level  up,  or  down,  everywhere,  whatever  the 
source  of  the  article. 

STEPHEN  :  Ah,  that's  fine.  If  you  can  achieve 
that,  you'll  make  a  better  world.  But  can  you? 
It  won't  come  yet.  If  a  man's  got  more  food  than 
he  can  possibly  eat  growing  within  ten  minutes 
of  his  back  door,  you'll  generally  find  he's  willing 
to  accept  a  lower  wage  than  the  man  whose  din- 
ner comes  thousands  of  miles  from  cattle  ranches 
in  Colorado.  If  a  man's  got  more  timber  than 
he  can  ever  use  growing  in  his  back  garden,  he 
can  make  cheaper  boxes  than  the  man  who  has 
to  fetch  his  planks  four  thousand  miles  from 
Canada  and  Russia.  You've  got  to  go  a  long 
way,  and  wait  a  long  time  before  you  can  per- 
suade everybody  to  forego  the  advantages  of  a 
fertile  land,  and  a  virgin  soil. 


54 

TOM  :  That's  it.  We  are  going  a  long  way ; 
and  we  are  not  going  to  wait  a  long  time. 

STEPHEN  :  1  wish  you  luck.  But  while  you're 
squabbling  over  the  way  to  get  there,  don't  lead 
men  into  a  blind  alley.  Tell  them  to  stand  out 
for  a  living  wage,  a  good  living  wage,  with  a 
margin  for  the  savings  bank  .  .  .  there  can  be 
that,  as  things  are  now,  for  everybody;  but  tell 
them  to  reckon  with  things  as  they  are  .  .  .  tell 
them  they  must  produce  at  the  same  cost  as  other 
countries  .  .  .  until  you've  changed  the  world. 
That  means  the  maximum  wage  is  beyond  our 
control,  and  depends  on  the  selling  price  in  other 
countries.  If  you  can  produce  a  better  article, 
you  can  demand  your  own  price,  within  reason ; 
but  nobody  is  going  to  give  you  half-a-crown  for 
what  he  can  get  for  two  shillings  across  the  street. 

JUDY  :  You  wouldn't  do  that  yourself,  would 
you,  Mr.  Coppock? 

The  telephone  rings. 
ROBERT  :  See  who  it  is,  Alice. 
ALICE  goes  out. 

TOM  (after  a  pause) :  We'll  get  on,  Cowley. 
There's  a  good  bit  to  do  for  the  meeting  to-mor- 
row. Good  evening,  Mr.  Brandon.  Good  even- 
ing, Robert.  Good  evening. 

TOM  and  COWLEY  go  out. 

BOB  (after  feeling  in  his  pocket) :  I  want  a 
match.  Have  you  got  one,  Alan?  ALAN  is  sit- 
ting deep  in  thought,  and  doesn't  notice. 


THE   PIPE   OF   PEACE  55 

JUDY  :  Alan,  dear,  father  wants  a  light. 

ALAN  (going  to  Bob) :  I  beg  your  pardon, 
father.  He  gives  him  a  match-box  from  his 
pocket.  BOB  relights  his  pipe. 

BOB  :  Thank  you,  my  boy.  To  Judy.  Thank 
you,  my  dear. 

ALICE  comes  back. 

ALICE  :  It's  Doctor  Wells.    Mrs.  Patten's  very 
ill  indeed.     She'd  like  to  see  you,  Alan. 
ALAN  :  I'll  go.    I'll  go  at  once. 
JUDY  :  I'll  come  with  you,  dear. 

ALAN  and  JUDY  go  out. 

ALICE  (looking  round) :  Where's  Tom  ?  and 
Cowley  ? 

ROBERT :  They're  gone1,  Alice.  I  expect 
you'll  find  them  at  home. 

ALICE:  Oh. 

BOB  :  I'll  go  home,  too.  To  Alice.  We  can 
go  together,  my  dear.  Good  night,  Robert. 
Good  night,  Mr.  Cole. 

ROBERT  and  STEPHEN  :  Good  night. 

ALICE  has  put  on  her  hat.  SHE  and  BOB  go 
out. 

ROBERT  and  STEPHEN  have  risen.  ROBERT 
goes  to  armchair  above  fire  and  sits.  STEPHEN 
sits  in  armchair  below  fire.  They  light  their 
pipes.  For  a  moment  they  are  silent. 

STEPHEN  :  You've  had  a  difficult  time,  I  can 
see. 


56  THE   PIPE   OF   PEACE 

ROBERT  (after  another  pause) :  Stephen,  I 
think  I'm  the  most  unhappy  man  in  the  town. 

STEPHEN  :  You  !  The  first  working  man  to  be 
made  Mayor;  the  best,  the  most  respected  they 
ever  had. 

ROBERT  :  I've  done  my  best.  I  think  they 
know  that. 

STEPHEN  :   And  a  good  best,  too. 

ROBERT  :  No,  Stephen.  What  I've  done's 
made  no  difference.  Nothing  will  make  any 
difference,  till  a  great  change  comes ;  till  *  Do  to 
others  as  you  have  a  right  to  expect  they  should 
do  to  you  *  is  the  common  standard  of  life.  With- 
out good-will  there's  no  hope. 

STEPHEN  :  I  was  afraid.     I  understand. 

ROBERT  :  You  understand.  But  how  many 
do? 

STEPHEN  :  So  few  get  any  chance  of  under- 
standing. They're  never  told.  Men,  some  of 
them  just  enthusiasts  without  the  vision  to  see 
where  extravagance  leads  .  .  .  some,  vicious, 
with  axes  to  grind,  are  in  every  corner  of  the 
country.  Everybody  hears  them,  but  the  men 
who  have  a  real  grip  of  the  matter,  and  see  to  the 
heart  of  it,  never  speak  at  all,  except  in  learned 
journals  that  the  man  in  the  street  never  hears  of. 

ROBERT  :  I  know.  When  I  was  Mayor  I  did 
what  I  could  to  induce  the  working  man  to  take 
an  intelligent  interest,  and  do  his  share,  in  the 
business  of  the  town ;  just  as  at  the  works  I  have 
done  all  I  could  to  get  the  men  to  organize  and 
control  their  departments.  I  helped  them  on  to 


THE  PIPE   OF   PEACE  57 

the  Council.  I  sent  some  of  them  to  see  at  first 
hand  the  best  and  most  advanced  examples  of 
civic  government,  in  England,  and  abroad.  It 
led  nowhere.  They're  inflamed  with  tales,  some 
true,  some  grossly  exaggerated,  of  class  injustice 
in  the  past.  They  will  not  realize  that  you  can't 
undo  the  past,  that  the  best  that  can  be  done  is  to 
mend  and  amend,  and  build  on  what  can't  be 
moved.  Their  attempts  at  control  are,  often, 
mere  declarations  of  class  war  over  again.  It  is 
so  in  the  town  affairs ;  it  is  so  at  the  works.  They 
will  not  see  that  the  good  of  the  community  is  the 
good  of  every  section  of  the  community.  The 
men  I  helped  into  power  are  the  cause  of  the 
trouble  in  the  works  to-day. 

STEPHEN  :  It's  the  bicycle  over  again.  ROBERT 
looks  a  question.  I've  always  been  of  opinion 
that  the  greatest  social  influence  of  last  century 
was  the  invention  of  the  bicycle,  especially  in 
districts  outside  the  great  commercial  centres. 
Fifty  years  ago  it  was  an  event  for  men  and 
women  in  villages  and  small  towns  to  go  ten  miles 
from  their  own  front  door.  The  bicycle  came. 
Folk  began  to  travel  twenty,  thirty,  fifty  miles. 
Foreigners,  as  they  used  to  call  them  where  I  was 
bred,  from  forty,  fifty  miles  became  more  and 
more  frequent  visitors.  Before,  a  man  hardly 
ever  looked  for  a  wife  who  hadn't  been  born  with- 
in sight,  on  a  clear  day,  of  his  father's  home. 
Now  they  began  to  marry  girls  who  had  been 
brought  up  in  different  environment,  with  little, 
queer  differences  in  their  views  of  life.  Tradi- 


58  THE   PIPE   OF  PEACE 

tions  were  interchanged,  and  a  wider  outlook 
followed.  But  it  was  a  slow,  slow  process. 
They  only  realized,  at  first,  the  pleasure  of  scorch- 
ing on  the  turnpike  road,  and  seeing  how  many 
miles  they  could  cover.  It  was  a  long  time  before 
they  realized  that  the  best  of  the  new  thing  they 
had  come  by  was  the  chance  to  see  the  beauty  of 
the  country,  and  to  know  their  neighbours  better. 

ROBERT  :  Yes,  that's  true.  Smiling.  I  remem- 
ber father's  first  excursion  on  a  fifty-two  inch 
wheel,  and  the  yarns  he  told  us  about  it  all. 

STEPHEN  :  The  same  thing's  happening  over 
again  in  a  different  way.  The  working  man  has 
access  to  power  that  thirty  years  ago  only  came 
to  rare  exceptions.  But  it's  the  bicycle  over  again. 
They're  only  enjoying  the  excitement,  seeing  how 
far  they  can  go;  not  realizing  the  significance, 
much  less  the  responsibility. 

ALAN  and  JUDY  come  in. 

ROBERT  :  How  is  Mrs.  Patten?  Did  you  see 
her,  Alan? 

ALAN  :  Yes  .   .  .  for  a  moment  .  .   .  the  last. 

ROBERT  :  She's  dead?  ALAN  nods.  It  must 
have  been  very  sudden.  What  was  it? 

ALAN  :  Starvation.  He  sits  at  the  feacfc  of  the 
table  deeply  moved. 

JUDY  :  She  starved  herself  to  feed  her  sick 
child.  The  horror  of  it  all.  She  is  standing  at 
the  left  end  of  the  table. 

ALAN  :  Homes  sold  up  !  Women  and  chil- 
dren starving ! 


THE   PIPE   OF   PEACE  59 

ROBERT  :  And  all  ...  because  masters  are 
obstinate,  and  men  wrangle  for  what  they've  no 
right  to  expect.  I've  worked  for  Labour  all  my 
life.  I'm  face  to  face  with  fact.  With  here  and 
there  exceptions  Labour's  not  yet  ...  fit  ... 
for  authority.  And  Labour's  best  friends  know 
it.  That's  the  tragedy. 

THE  CURTAIN  FALLS. 


ACT    III. 

The  scene  is  the  same  as  in  the  last  act.  There 
are  some  changes,  such  as  five  years  may  have 
brought  about.  There  are  some  different  books 
in  the  bookshelf;  there  are  two  pictures  which 
were  not  there  before,  one  on  each  side  of  the 
bookcase.  Other  pictures  are  the  same.  The 
chairs  are  differently  arranged;  there  are  arm 
chairs  above  and  below  the  fireplace  as  before. 
There  are  chairs  at  each  end  of  the  table,  and 
three  at  the  back. 

It  is  May  24th,  Empire  Day,  in  1924. 

ALAN  is  sitting  in  the  arm  chair  above  the  fire- 
place, reading  a  newspaper. 

DOCTOR  WELLS  comes  in.  He  looks  older, 
but  is  still  an  active  man. 

ALAN  :  Have  you  been  to  the  concert  ? 


60  THE   PIPE   OF   PEACE 

DR.  W.  :  Couldn't  .  .  .  had  a  troublesome 
case. 

ALAN  :  1  couldn't  go  either.  Judy's  a  bit  tired 
.  .  .  the  journey  yesterday. 

DR.  W.  :  And  you,  too  .  .  .  after  last  night's 
shindy.  You  had  a  near  shave.  He  sits  in  arm 
chair  below  fireplace. 

ALAN  :  Coppock's  exasperating.  The  men 
were  furious.  In  ten  minutes  he'd  have  been  in 
the  canal. 

DR.  W.  :  He  was  a  fool  to  come  here  again, 
after  what  happened  two  years  ago.  Where  is 
he  now? 

ALAN  :  Here.  Upstairs.  Robert  brought  him 
here.  He  had  to  promise  to  keep  out  of  sight  till 
dark,  and  catch  the  night  train  to  London. 

DR.  W.  :  He'll  find  kindred  spirits  there. 

ALAN  (smiling) :  Oh,  yes.  There's  a  good 
many  in  my  parish.  And  they're  fine  chaps  .  .  . 
some  of  them. 

DR.  W.  :  They're  a  damned  nuisance,  and  a 
mischief  to  the  community. 

ALAN  :  I  know.  But  their  day's  gone  by. 
They  don't  count  for  so  much  now. 

ALICE  comes  in.     She  is  nervous,  and  excited. 

ALICE  :  Good  evening. 

DR.  W.  :  Good  evening,  my  dear. 

ALAN  :  Good  evening,  Alice.  He  goes  to  her 
and  shades  hands. 

ALICE  :  I  want  to  find  Tom  Coppock.  Pause. 
Do  you  know  where  he  is  ?  There  is  no  answer; 


THE   PIPE   OF   PEACE  6? 

she  /oofes  from  one  to  the  other.  Some  people 
say  he's  gone  away  .  .  .  some  say  he's  hiding 
here.  I  can't  find  Robert.  Do  you  know,  Alan? 

ALAN  (he  is  standing  in  front  of  the  chair  right 
of  the  table;  she  is  still  near  him.  He  speaks 
very  quietly,  and  Very  kindly) :  Why  do  you 
want  to  know,  Alice? 

ALICE  :  I  want  to  see  him.  They  treated  him 
shamefully  last  night.  She  sits  in  chair  left  of 
table. 

ALAN  :  They  were  angry,  and  people  generally 
do  foolish  things  when  they  are  angry.  He  sit? 
right  of  table. 

DR.  W.  :  He  couldn't  expect  anything  else. 

ALICE  :  Why  not?  He  helped  the  men  years 
ago.  Why  should  they  turn  on  him  now? 

DR.  W.  :  They  turned  on  him  when  they  found 
him  out. 

ALICE  :  You're  as  bad  as  the  men,  Doctor. 
You're  all  against  him  .  .  .  just  because  he's 
got  more  brains. 

DR.  W.  (smiling) :  He's  a  mischievous  fellow, 
Alice.  You  needn't  waste  your  sympathy  on 
him. 

ALICE  (hotly) :  I  admire  him. 

ALAN  (after  a  pause;  he  /oofcs  at  her)  :  Do  you 
know  why  he  left  the  town,  suddenly,  two  years 
ago? 

ALICE  :  No.  Not  the  truth.  I  don't  think 
anybody  knew  .  .  .  except,  perhaps,  Robert, 
and  two  or  three.  I  ...  think  Cowley  knew,. 


62  THE   PIPE   OF   PEACE 

but  he  won't  talk  about  him.  He  gets  angry,  if 
I  ask  about  Tom. 

DR.  W.  :  You  ought  to  know,  my  dear.  Tell 
her,  Alan. 

ALAN  :  Tom  got  into  trouble  at  Liverpool. 
There  was  a  very  noisy  meeting  there.  It  led  to 
his  belongings  being  seized,  and  examined. 

DR.  W.  :  Then  the  whole  story  came  out  .  .  . 
though  it  was  weeks  before  we  heard  the  truth  of 
it. 

ALICE  :  What  was  the  truth? 

ALAN  :  Tom  was  one  of  an  organized  party, 
working  in  all  parts  of  the  country.  It  wasn't 
Labour  .  .  .  the  working  man  in  England  .  .  . 
they  cared  about.  What  they  wanted  was  to  up- 
set the  whole  social  system  of  the  country. 

DR.  W.  :  And  plunder  and  murder  were  their 
acknowledged  weapons.  The  funds  were  sup- 
plied by  the  most  desperate  groups  in  Europe. 

ALICE  (she  turns  to  face  the  DOCTOR  an d  ALAN 
with  her  elbows  on  the  table) :  I  don't  believe  a 
word  of  it. 

ALAN  :  It's  true,  Alice,  though,  to  do  Tom 
justice,  I  don't  think  he  quite  realized  the  tools  he 
was  handling,  or  the  source  of  the  money  he  was 
paid  with. 

DR.  W.  :  He  ought  to  have  known.  With  a 
grain  of  common  sense,  he  would. 

ALICE  :  He  had  to  take  risks.  He  was  never 
afraid  of  a  fight. 

ALAN  :  Our  men  were  never  afraid  of  a  fight, 
Alice,  an  honest  fight  for  the  rights  of  Labour; 


THE   PIPE   OF  PEACE  63 

they've  shown  that  more  than  once,  and  every- 
body respects  them  for  it.  But  that's  a  very  dif- 
ferent thing.  There  was  a  storm  of  indignation 
when  the  men  found  themselves  associated  with 
a  crazy  attempt  at  revolution. 

DR.  W.  :  If  Coppock  hadn't  made  tracks  the 
night  the  news  came  through,  he'd  have  been 
lucky  to  get  off  with  his  life. 

ALICE  is  distressed  and  perplexed.  She  buries 
her  face  in  her  hands  and  there  is  a  stifled  sob. 

At  this  moment  CoWLEY  comes  in.  ALICE 
doesn't  see  him.  He  goes  up  left.  Nobodjr 
takes  any  notice  of  him.  There  has  been  no 
sound  at  his  entrance,  or  as  he  goes  up  to  the 
back. 

ALICE  :  What  proof  was  there  that  .  .  .  Tom 
knew.  Even  if  what  you  say  ...  or  part  of  it 
...  is  true,  I'm  not  going  to  turn  against  him. 
I  want  to  find  him  and  tell  him  so. 

ALAN  :  Alice,  I  can't  tell  you  all  I  know.  In 
my  work  in  London,  I  get  strange  confidences, 
sometimes.  But  you  can  take  my  word  for  it. 
You  heard  what  the  Doctor  said.  He  doesn't 
know  the  worst. 

ALICE  (defiant,  and  a  little  hysterical) :  I  don't 
care.  I  want  proof.  Tom's  down,  and  the  men 
want  to  kick  him.  Scornfully.  It's  just  because 
he's  got  more  brains,  and  better  looks  than  they- 
have. 

COWLEY  (struggling  with  passion,  which  he 
completely  masters,  he  comes  down  on  the  left  of 


64  THE   PIPE   OF   PEACE 

ALICE) :  Alice,  my  girl,  I  think  .  .  .  Alan 
wouldn't  deceive  you.  He  wouldn't  say  what 
he  did,  if  he  didn't  know  it  was  true.  At  the 
sound  of  CoWLEY's  voice,  ALICE  has  looked 
round.  She  is  startled,  and  an  impulse  to  cry  out 
ends  in  a  stifled  '  Oh.'  Who  .  .  .  who's  with 
the  children,  Alice?  They're  so  little.  I  don't 
like  them  to  be  left.  He  has  been  very  gentle  and 
tender;  he  holds  out  his  hand.  I'm  going  home. 
Will  you  come? 

ALICE  :  I  ...  I  didn't  see  you,  Cowley. 
.She  goes  to  him.  She  is  a  little  hysterical,  but 
controls  herself,  and  speaks  quietly.  Is  it  true, 
Cowley?  Did  they  really  plan  to  ...  do  the 
horrible  things  they  say  .  .  .  some  of  them  ? 
COWLEY  doesnt  answer;  she  turns  to  ALAN. 

ALAN  :  Yes,  Alice,  it's  true.  I'm  sorry,  but 
it  is. 

ALICE  (she  is  convinced,  and  is  stupified  by  the 
conviction) :  Cowley,  I  ...  I've  .  .  .  been  .  .  . 
Yes  .  .  .  yes,  Cowley,  the  children.  I  didn't 
know  it  was  so  late.  I'll  come  with  you.  Good 
night,  Doctor.  Good  night,  Alan. 

ALAN  :  Good  night,  Alice. 

DR.  W.  :  Good  night,  my  dear. 

COWLEY  and  ALICE  go  out. 

ALAN  (he  goes  back  to  the  arm  chair  above  the 
fireplace,  and  sits.  After  a  pause)  :  I  think  she 
understands  at  last.  Cowley *s  splendid. 

DR.  W.  :  Always  was.  I  brought  him  into  the 
world,  Alan.  I'm  very  fond  of  Cowley. 


THE   PIPE   OF   PEACE  65 

ROBERT  and  TOM  come  in.  They  are  heard 
speaking  before  they  are  seen. 

ROBERT  (as  they  come  in) :  Did  they  get  you 
some  supper? 

TOM  :  Yes  .   .   .  thank  you. 

ROBERT  :  Sorry  I  couldn't  be  in.  I  had  to  go 
to  the  concert.  It's  an  institution  with  us  on 
Empire  Day.  Pause.  Can  you  hear  them? 
They  listen  for  a  few  moments  to  the  choir  sing- 
ing in  the  hall  near  by.  They  are  looking  out  as 
through  a  window  in  the  fourth  wall.  It  is  not 
necessary  for  the  audience  to  hear  the  singing. 
We've  got  a  fine  choir  now.  He  smiles,  remem- 
bering. You  were  here  on  Empire  Day  in  twenty- 
two. 

TOM  :  Yes,  that's  right. 

DR.  W.  (with  a  little  grunt) :  Hm.  At  the  end 
the  band  played  *  The  King.'  When  the  people 
stood  up,  and  joined  in,  you,  and  a  few  near  you, 
sat  tight,  and  scowled. 

ROBERT  (laughing) :  I  didn't  remember  that. 
He  goes  round  the  right  end  of  the  table,  and  sits 
behind  it  in  the  centre  chair. 

TOM  :  Why  not?  If  you've  got  no  use  for 
Kings.  He  sits  at  the  right  of  the  table. 

DR.  W.  :  They'll  play  '  The  King  '  again  to- 
night ;  and  every  man  Jack  will  stand  up  and  join 
in. 

TOM  :  Let  'em,  if  they  like  all  the  humbug  of 
Courts  .  .  .  with  millions  wasted  that  might 
feed  starving  men.' 


66  THE   PIPE   OF  PEACE 

DR.  W.  :  That's  bosh,  and  you  know  it.  Re- 
publics can  spend  as  much  as  any  on  State  func- 
tions. And  they  do  it,  because  they  know  it 
pays.  And  you  know  quite  well  that  if  they 
didn't  spend  one  penny  on  the  amenities  of  the 
Court,  and  Government  hospitality,  the  money 
saved  could  make  no  difference  to  starving  men. 

ROBERT  :  You  know  it  wouldn't,  Tom. 

TOM  :  Perhaps  not  .  .  .  just  a  drop  in  the 
ocean  .  .  .  that's  true. 

ROBERT  :  You  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  the 
remedy  for  starvation  is  not  more  money  spent  on 
unemployment  pay,  but  peace  and  good-will  in 
the  labour  world,  and  efficiency  amongst  those 
who  get  left  without  work.  There  wouldn't  be 
much  unemployment  then. 

TOM  :  I  daresay  there's  something  in  that. 

DR.  W.  :  There's  everything  in  it.  The  fact 
is  I'm  beginning  to  think  you  don't  believe  your- 
self in  all  you  say. 

ROBERT  (laughing  at  TOM  very  lightly  and 
good-humouredly) :  Not  half  of  it,  eh,  Tom? 

TOM  (also  smiling) :  You're  a  sport,  Robert. 
I  don't  mind  telling  you  I'm  a  bit  fed  up.  When 
I  took  on  this  job  I  thought  it  was  a  clean  straight 
thing,  a  genuine  move  by  working  men  to  get 
what's  just.  The  first  time  I  found  out  what  the 
game  really  was,  and  where  the  money  came 
from,  it  shook  me  pretty  badly.  My  first  thought 
was  to  clear  out.  But,  I  tell  you,  it's  a  nasty 
net  to  get  tangled  in,  and  they've  got  ways  to  keep 
you  there.  I  had  to  stick  it,  or  .  .  .  it's  no  use 


THE   PIPE   OF   PEACE  67 

going  into  that.  Last  night  I  tried  .  .  .  well, 
they  wouldn't  hear  me,  or  ...  But  it's  no  odds 
any  way. 

DR.  W.  :  For  all  your  doubts,  you're  as  pat  as 
ever  with  the  old  stock  remedies  to  mend  a  sick 
world ;  and  the  old  stock  catch  words. 

TOM  (laughing  a  little) :  Once  you  get  the  trick 
o*  the  lingo,  start  talking,  and  it  conies  of  itself ; 
you  can't  help  yourself  .  .  .  you  can't  get  out  of 
the  way  of  it.  The  DOCTOR,  ROBERT  and  ALAN 
laugh  a  little  very  pleasantly.  TOM  looks  from 
one  to  the  other.  Here,  look  here  !  Don't  you 
make  any  mistake  .  .  .  don't  you  think  I  mean 
.  .  .  more  than  I  do. 

ALAN  :  At  any  rate,  you  can  give  some  good 
advice  to  your  friends.  Tell  them  to  confine  their 
activities  to  their  own  countries,  and  send  no  more 
emissaries  here.  They'll  get  rough-handled  if 
they're  caught.  And  you  can  tell  them  that  the 
workers  of  England  are  loyal  to  the  monarchy 
because  they're  very  sure  of  a  great  truth.  The 
best  form  of  government  for  any  country  is  the 
form  that  inspires  general  confidence,  and  recog- 
nition of  right  authority.  For  different  countries, 
different  customs.  For  England  it's  constitu- 
tional monarchy. 

DR.  W.  :  And  that  means  true  democracy. 

TOM  :  It  keeps  capital  safe,  anyway ;  and  that's 
the  cause  of  all  the  trouble. 

ROBERT  :  You're  wrong,  Tom.  True  demo- 
cracy is  the  death  of  class  tyranny  .  .  .  whatever 
class. 


68  THE   PIPE   OF  PEACE 

ALAN  :  Tell  your  friends  something  else.  We 
don't  think  quite  the  same  of  capital  as  you  do,  or 
as  some  here  did  ten  years  ago.  Here  at  the 
works  all  the  men  and  women  over  twenty  can  be 
capitalists  themselves,  if  they  like.  A  fair  part 
of  the  profits  every  year,  with  an  agreed  contribu- 
tion by  the  workers,  is  turned  into  new  capital ; 
and,  if  they  want  to,  and  fulfil  the  conditions, 
they  can  all  be  shareholders. 

TOM  (smiling) :  The  old  trick.  Set  the  men 
looking  for  dividends,  and  they'll  be  fooled  into 
cutting  their  own  wages  to  swell  the  profits. 

DR.  W.  :  My  friend,  you're  out  of  date  .  .  . 
years  behind  the  times.  Your  way  of  thinking's 
all  very  well  where  the  savage  tyranny  of  so- 
called  equality  makes  slaves  of  everybody  but 
the  men  in  power.  It  won't  do  here. 

ROBERT  :  That's  so,  Tom.  A  trade  union  to- 
day isn't  what  it  was  in  nineteen-fourteen,  or  in 
nineteen-nineteen.  It's  a  different  thing,  and  a 
better  thing.  Every  trades  unionist  to-day  knows 
it  depends  on  himself  to  rise  to  a  better  job, 
because  every  member  is  a  competent  workman. 

TOM  :  It's  the  incompetent  want  protection 
most. 

ROBERT  :  That's  true,  and  they  get  it  in  a  dif- 
ferent way.  But  the  proportion  of  unemploy- 
ment which  in  many  cases  .  .  .  God  forbid  I 
should  say  all  ...  is  the  result  of  incompetence, 
is  as  one  to  five  to  what  it  was  in  nineteen-four- 
teen, ten  years  ago ;  and  nearer  one  to  ten  to  what 
it  was  in  twenty-one,  three  years  ago.  You  can't 


THE   PIPE   OF  PEACE  69 

altogether  ignore  statistics  .  .  .  that's  one  of  the 
things  you  learn  on  the  platform. 

DR.  W.  (chuckling) :  They  explain  'em  away ; 
and  they're  very  artful  at  the  job. 

ALAN  :  We'll  look  after  the  incompetent,  if  it 
isn't  their  own  fault. 

ROBERT  :  But  the  idler  no  longer  gets  the  same 
advantage  as  the  honest  worker  and  the  skilled. 

TOM  :  So  you  say. 

ROBERT  :  How  long  have  you  been  away  ? 

TOM  :  Two  years  .   .   .  about. 

ROBERT  :  More's  happened  than  you  realize  in 
two  years.  In  the  best  controlled  unions  to-day 
no  man  is  admitted  to  full  membership  till  he  has 
shown  he  can  do  a  fair  day's  work.  And  if  he 
does  the  work,  the  union  sees  he  gets  a  fair  day's 
wage.  It's  the  same  with  the  women,  of  course. 
There's  a  corresponding  rule  in  all  the  best  em- 
ployers* associations.  They  won't  have  a  man 
who  doesn't  understand  his  trade,  and  deal 
honestly  by  all,  his  men  as  well  as  his  fellow  em- 
ployers. And  there  isn't  a  strike  or  a  lock-out 
every  time  there's  a  difference.  We  don't  keep 
the  world  waiting  while  we  stand  off  and  bicker. 
We  have  realized  the  full  advantage  of  arbitration, 
properly  safeguarded.  And  we  want  your 
friends  to  come  to  their  senses,  to  make  progress, 
and  profit  by  it,  as  we  have. 

TOM  :  Don't  worry  about  my  friends.  We  see 
what's  right,  and  what's  wrong,  and  we  go  for  it. 

ROBERT  :  That's  just  what  none  of  us  can  do. 
No  man  can  see  right  and  wrong  quite  clearly 


70  THE   PIPE  OF  PEACE 

when  his  own  interest's  involved.  We've  learnt 
that,  too.  There's  a  custom,  not  general  as  yet, 
but  likely  to  be  so  before  long,  that  has  helped  a 
lot.  If  a  union  has  a  quarrel  that  may  lead  to  a 
strike,  three  other  unions  with  entirely  different 
interests  debate  it  at  a  club  meeting.  They  take 
a  vote,  and  the  result  is  published. 

TOM  :  Interference ;  they  should  mind  their 
own  business. 

ROBERT  :  No.  No  union  is  in  any  sense  bound 
by  the  result ;  but  it  has  developed  a  great  sense 
of  justice.  It  is  welcomed  as  an  expression  of 
disinterested  opinion. 

CoWLEY  comes  in.  He  is  in  a  white-hot  pas- 
sion, and  goes  straight  to  TOM.  He  has  to  make 
a  great  effort  to  control  himself. 

COWLEY  (quietly,  but  in  stem  anger) :  You  sent 
a  letter  to  Arthur  Stanley.  Tom  looks  up,  puz- 
zled, but  has  no  chance  to  speak.  CoWLEY  goes 
straight  on.  When's  he  going,  Robert?  He 
goes  to  the  lower  left  end  of  the  table. 

ROBERT  :  Eleven-forty  from  the  junction. 

COWLEY  :  Right.  There's  three  of  us  going 
with  you,  Coppock ;  and,  if  you  speak  to  man  or 
woman  on  the  way,  by  God,  you  won't  forget  to- 
night. 

TOM  (sullenly)  :  What  have  I  done  now? 

CoWLEY  (speaking  quietly,  in  intense  anger, 
but  Very  clearly  and  calmly) :  It  took  years  to 
realize  what  you,  and  others  like  you,  have  done. 
You  took  away  men's  reason,  and  started  them. 


THE   PIPE  OF  PEACE  71 

on  a  mad  fool's  quest.  The  unions  were  fighting 
for  the  men,  and  you  set  them  shouting  for  what 
they  couldn't  get,  and  that  beat  'em.  They  took 
years  to  recover  their  strength.  I  was  one  of  the 
damned  fools  who  listened  to  you  once.  I  know 
better  now.  You  stirred  up  class  hatred  and  dis- 
trust, and,  while  it  lasted,  both  sides  went  under. 
We're  wiser  now.  Clear  out  of  this  to-night,  and 
don't  come  back  ...  or,  next  time,  we'll  set 
about  you  in  earnest. 

ALAN  :  He's  going,  Cowley.     There's  no  need 
for  violence. 

COWLEY  :  You  don't  know,  Alan.  They're 
trying  to  get  at  Arthur  Stanley.  They've  offered 
him  big  money  to  go  to  Liverpool.  They  know 
the  boy's  wild  in  thought,  and  thinks  it  fine 
to  make  himself  a  martyr  for  what  he  calls  *  the 
cause.  *  Damn  you  !  The  boy  isn't  twenty,  and 
when  his  mind's  not  muddled  by  will-o'-the- 
wisps  you  dangle  before  him  he's  the  best  and 
straightest  lad  among  us.  You  know  that, 
Robert  ...  so  does  Alice.  They  sent  him  a 
letter.  Here  it  is.  He  tal^es  an  envelope  from 
his  pocket,  and  from  it  a  letter  torn  in  fragments. 
He  throws  them  in  TOM'S  face.  TOM  puts  his 
hand  on  the  back  °f  his  chair,  about  to  rise  in  a 
great  passion,  ALAN  comes  to  him,  and  puts 
his  hand  firmly  on  his  arm.  TOM  controls  him- 
self, and  sits  still,  looking  fiercely  at  COWLEY. 
ALAN  goes  back  to  his  chair.  If  Alice  and  I 
hadn't  seen  Arthur  to-night,  he'd  have  gone ; 
and,  likely  as  not,  got  shot  in  a  street  brawl  before 


72  THE   PIPE   OF  PEACE 

the  year's  out.  But  we'll  leave  nothing  to 
chance.  You  don't  get  at  him  again.  You 
don't  go  out  of  my  sight  till  the  train  leaves  the 
station. 

ToM  :  You've  lost  your  temper,  Cowley ;  and 
when  a  man  loses  his  temper,  it's  waste  o'  words 
to  reason  with  him.  You  can  believe  me  or  not, 
as  you  like.  I  don't  care  which.  I've  never 
seen  Arthur  Stanley.  I  know  nothing  about 
him.  They've  got  their  own  ways  of  finding  new 
men. 

COWLEY  :  They  knew  you  were  here  .  .  .  they 
sent  him  the  letter  the  same  day. 

TOM  (very  firmly) :  The  letter's  nothing  to  do 
with  me,  I  tell  you,  or  with  my  being  here.  They 
don't  know  at  head-quarters  where  I  am. 

CoWLEY  (losing  control) :  A  lie  !  The  boy  was 
trying  to  find  you. 

TOM  (rising;  fiercely) :  I  know  nothing  about 
it,  I  tell  you.  CoWLEY  comes  to  him  in  a  threa- 
tening attitude ;  they  face  each  other,  an d,  for  a 
few  moments,  they  look  hke  coming  to  blows. 

ALAN  (gently,  but  very  firmly) :  Cowley,  sit 
down.  After  a  moment  CoWLEY  does  so  reluc- 
tantly. He  sits  in  chair  behind  table  on  ROBERT'S 
left.  Sit  down,  Tom.  After  a  pause,  ToM  sits 
at  the  left  end  of  the  table.  No  good  quarrelling. 
Tom's  done  many  things,  but  I  never  doubted  his 
word.  Tom  says  he  doesn't  know  Arthur  .  .  . 
or  anything  about  it. 

ROBERT  : That's  good  enough  for  me. 


THE   PIPE   OF  PEACE  73 

TOM  (after  looking  '  Thanks  '  to  ROBERT.  ): 
Never  heard  of  him.  He's  nothing  to  me  .  .  . 
except  .  .  .  well,  he  seems  a  good  sort  .  .  . 
and,  you're  right.  He'd  better  stop  at  home. 

ALAN  (smiling) :  You  see.  He  sits  in  chair 
right  of  table.  He  is  filling  his  pipe.  Give  up 
your  visionary  friends,  Tom,  and  put  your  influ- 
ence in  the  scale  of  progress  .  .  .  and  order. 

ROBERT  :  He  could  do  a  lot  for  the  men. 

DR.  W.  :  It's  a  wise  saying  'Old  enemies  make 
good  friends.'  I've  heard  Bob  say  so  scores  of 
times.  He  comes  and  sits  behind  table ,  right  of 
ROBERT.  He  is  filling  his  pipe.  After  a 
moment's  pause;  to  TOM.  Alan  comes  from 
London  .  .  .  and  a  queer  corner  of  London,  at 
that.  He  sees  a  good  deal  of  your  lot.  He  has 
passed  his  pouch  to  ROBERT,  who  looks  at  the 
tobacco,  hesitates,  then  fills  his  pipe. 

ROBERT  (to  TOM)  :  It's  good  advice  he's  giving 
you. 

DR.  W.  (watching  ROBERT;  with  a  little 
chortle)  :  Ha  .  .  .ha.  ROBERT  catches  his  eye, 
smiles,  and  hands  back  the  pouch.  The  DOCTOR 
hands  it  to  CoWLEY,  who  smells  it,  and,  without 
a  movement  of  his  eye  or  head,  hands  it  back  to 
the  DOCTOR,  who  smiles.  TOM  has  been  watch- 
ing this,  and,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  takes  a 
tobacco  box  from  his  pocket,  and  hands  it  to 
COWLEY.  COWLEY  hesitates  a  moment,  then 
takes  it  and  fills  his  pipe.  TOM  takes  a  pipe 
already  half  filled  from  his  pocket. 


74  THE   PIPE   OF   PEACE 

COWLEY  (a*  he  hands  back  the  box;  a  little 
shyly) :  Sorry,  Tom.  TOM  and  COWLEY  light 
Up.  The  others  have  already  done  so.  All  are 
smoking. 

TOM  (looking  round;  laughing  lightly) :  Well, 
I'm  .  .  . 

DR.  W.  (blowing  out  a  column  of  smoke) :  *  1 
have  known  .  .  .  four-and-twenty  leaders  of 
revolt.  * 

ALAN  and  ROBERT  smile.  TOM  takes  it  quite 
good^humouredly.  CoWLEY  is  steadily  smoking. 

TOM  (he  looks  at  his  watch)  :  Well,  good  luck  f 
You  won't  see  me  for  a  time.  Cowley,  look  after 
Arthur  Stanley.  Looking  from  COWLEY  to 
ROBERT.  So  it  seems  you're  getting  what  you 
want  .  .  .  your  own  way.  1  dare  say  that's 
best.  But  .  .  .  when  things  are  straight  all 
round  .  .  .  may  be,  you'll  find  we  helped  .  .  . 
a  little. 

THE  CURTAIN  FALLS. 


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